the final riddle
by whitehoneybee
Summary: Hermione will create multiple time lines in order to save Tom Riddle's soul and cure him of his inability to love.
1. Hermione Finds A Letter

'I could just kill him,' she thought, her heart beating rapidly. 'It would be so easy. Quick, even.'

But Hermione knew she wouldn't. This was a chance to start over. She couldn't abuse it.

She fingered the small gold necklace around her neck.

...

Hermione had broken into the headmaster's office. The battle would begin soon. Harry had destroyed most of Voldemort's horcruxes and was now searching for Ravenclaw's diadem. Though the odds of finding the last few were starting to look better, she couldn't ignore the feeling of dread that was beginning to overwhelm her.

The walls of the office were lined with ageing, wooden shelves filled with bobbles and books. She passed an intricately carved wooden table that stood center of the entrance space and climbed the stone steps to the headmaster's desk. She passed through rich red curtains, and ignored the suspicious looks from the portraits of the past Headmasters.

Dumbledore's portrait was placed center of the wall and he was peacefully dozing.

She started when Dumbledore lifted his wrinkled eyelids and his blue eyes met hers briefly. He shifted in his chair and folded his hands neatly into his blue robed lap. Then, with a grave expression, he gestured to the wall beside them.

Her eyes darted towards the paneled mirror that surrounded a white carved bowl between the bookshelves. She walked over to the pensieve and watched swirls of blue and blinding white float lazily inside the bowl.

A flash of gold caught her eye.

Another glint came from the bowl. Curious, she hesitantly reached a hand into the pensieve. There was no bottom and she felt a bit foolish with half her arm sticking in the bowl. That feeling only lasted until she felt something solid in her grasp. She curled her hand around it and pulled it out. In her hand was a crisp white envelope.

She walked over to Dumbledore's desk and sat at his chair, causing a few headmasters in their portraits to harrumph loudly at her. But she hardly noticed as she looked over it. The letter was not addressed.

She flipped the envelope over and peeled off a red seal that had the image of a phoenix etched into it. Trembling hands pulled out a letter.

By the time this is to be read, I shall be dead. Three turns ought to do it at first, but as this is a mere prototype of my own design, where you end up can not be too accurately determined. I designed this with the strictest intentions of fixing mistakes. Hopefully the war has not turned so desperate that some unfortunate hero will need to use this, but if it has, I am dreadfully sorry.

I wish you luck.

Albus Percival Wulfuric Bryan Dumbldore.

And that had ended the very short letter. She turned to look at Dumbledore's portrait, but now it seemed that he really was asleep. Bringing her attention back to the envelope, she reached into the envelope once more.

Hermione gasped at what she saw and almost dropped it. 'These were all supposed to be destroyed during the battle at the ministry!' she thought, as her mind went into overdrive.

"Dumbledore, you ingenious madman!" she breathed.


	2. Hermione Slips Away

Flecks of light reflected off the gold necklace she held in her hand. The sun was doing nothing to warm the cold, foggy morning. Standing at the edge of a clearing, hidden in the trees, was Hermione Granger. Exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in, she let the necklace fall to her chest and secured her hair behind tightly.

Once again, though this time a bit more hesitantly, she raised the necklace eye level to examine.

It was quiet in the forest, and it gave her an eerie feeling that caused her heart to beat just a little faster. Paranoia that she had gained early on in the war caused her to turn her head around slowly. Instincts told her that she had to leave. That she had to go-

"Now or never," she murmured to herself. She so regretted what she was about to do. It was crazy, foolish, and it would be especially dangerous.

But there was no other alternative she could think of.

Her trembling hands were already turning the dials of her necklace which caused the outer rings to spin. The rings surrounded a small hourglass which contained fine grains of pale yellow sand. Her fingers stopped moving, and as the rings stopped, the glass began to spin. Faster and faster it turned until it became a blur. Shutting her eyes, she inhaled a breath before she disappeared from view.

Not a minute later after she had disappeared, the sharp cracks of apparition sounded throughout the clearing. Cloaked figures stood on the snow covered ground. All had wands drawn, but they were reluctantly lowered as the intended target was nowhere in sight.

"This is the place?" the burliest of the men demanded. "You are sure?" he asked annoyed.

"The dark lord placed a taboo on every order member. The spell indicates that there should be someone here," Rodolphus responded annoyed, gesturing towards the space centered of the seven figures.

The burly man, Greyback, stalked towards the spot and stopped when he reached the last set of footprints the target had left in the snow and growled in frustration.

"Greyback!" called a cloaked figure, "We'll get them next time! There's been another order member discovered! In Ottery St. Chatpol!"

With that, he disappeared with a crack of apparition. Five more cracks followed successively until only Greyback was left standing in the boy-who-lived had been defeated mere hours ago. The Order of the Phoenix had fled and the dark lord had ordered their capture as well as the capture of any straggling mudbloods. The future of wizarding world was turning very bleak, very fast.

"You won't slip away from me again," he breathed. He was Hesitant to leave. The girl should be here. He knew it somehow. The others had all left and he would have to catch up. He looked around once more before he too disappeared with a deafening crack.

. . .

_1936_

She felt as though she were flying backwards very fast, her ears were pounding-

and then she felt solid land beneath her feet. Heavily lidded eyes opened beneath thin, highly arched eyebrows. Doe eyes a warm brown were revealed under dark lashes. It was warm now and the sun was shining brightly down on her. It was safe here, peaceful. And she was so out of place.

She fell to her knees and clutched at her throat trying to retain her breath, she carefully tucked the necklace into her top and stood. The human body was not built to travel through time for such great distances.

_Fixing mistakes, _she thought as she tried to shake off memories of the war she had just barely lived through.

The corner of her lip twitched into a weak smile. A least it had worked.

The sun hit her upturned face and she closed her eyes, picturing Little Hangleton as she had seen it in Ogden's memory.


	3. Meeting Riddle Sr

In the country, on a large hill above a valley village, stood the great Riddle Manor upon lush green lawn surrounded by large hedges. Tom Riddle, twenty eight now, sat with his tall, lanky form sprawled on the swinging bench on the porch of his father's house.

Sipping a cold pimm he watched the clouds in the summer's bright, forget-me-not blue sky. He was lost in thought with his book half read lying forgotten on his lap. Rippling waves of black, short and coiffured framed his lightly tanned face. As he closed his eyes, long lashes trailed his skin, shadowing his straight nose. The sleeves of his tailored white button down shirt were rolled over defined forearms and his long legs adorned in soft brown trousers were crossed lazily.

. . .

Hermione walked passed a post with two arms. One, pointing back the way she had come read,_Great Hangleton, 5 miles_. The arm pointing to the left read, _Little Hangleton, 1 mile_. Looking towards Little Hangleton, she saw it was really two sloping hill. On the right hill and in between lay the village, a church, and a graveyard. On the hill to the left lay Riddle Manor.

. . .

Tom Riddle abruptly sat up, knocking his book to the floor, as he heard a gunshot. Looking dazedly around, he squinted his eyes at a figure walking towards him from several yards away.

Hermione had not expected anyone to be outside the manor and she was thankful that the man, who appeared to be Tom Riddle, as she was approaching him closer, had not been able to witness her 'sudden' appearance.

_You really ought to have walked! _Hermione reprimanded herself. _Or at least been more careful about where you appear._

She reached the steps of the manor and walked onto the porch using the intricate, white metal railing. She noticed he was handsome, extremely so, a book lying across the floor of the porch, and Mr. Riddle's bare feet.

Tom was, to say the least, quite confused by the sight presented to him. A strange girl stood before wearing strange trousers and heavy boots and a crumpled cloak.

And.. was_- was that blood on her pants? _She looked worse for wear with her dirtied and ripped attire.

"Who are you?" he blurted out.

"Well,I'm..I'm Jean Grant." she answered shakily. "I came to tell you something. Something important," she told him urgently.

"Are Mr. and Mrs. Riddle home?" she asked hesitantly.

"My parents are out in Great Hangleton right now, visiting some friends." He looked towards her curiously. "Well? Well, go on. There's a message for me. Is there not?"

"Oh, yes of course! The message! The message, well lets see," she began to mutter.

"Uh... That is, the thing is, you should know... you have a son," she said, the last part as though it were a question.

Hermione watched as Tom stiffened, and his eyes grew wide. Every second that he did not respond made Hermione grow tense. She grit her teeth. Hard. _Why isn't he answering? Is he angry? He'll blow any second, I know it! I could use my wand to start over_.

She toyed with the idea, though she was interrupted from her wild imaginings when he asked, voice trembling, "I h-have a s-son?"

'_That's not possible! What is she saying? I've never…' _As he focused more closely on the strange girl, he saw her face was serious and for some unexplainable reason, it put a stop to his internal ramblings.


	4. Hermione Is Found Out

Hermione nodded, face dead panned.

"What's his name?" he asked, as calmly as he could manage.

Hermione started, guilt edging to the corners of her mind at the ideas she had toyed with earlier.

"T- Tom Marvolo Riddle. The son of Merope Gaunt." she answered.

Tom had gone pale by the end of her sentence.

Tom.

Tom.

Tom.

Tom, Merope named her child after me. I have a son with Merope Gaunt. I have a son.

Tom abruptly stood. "Would you excuse me? I'll be just a moment. Great Scott it's hot out!" Reaching down, Tom picked up his now watery pimm and entered his house, slamming the door, leaving Hermione alone without waiting for her reply. Tom stumbled into the manor, his feet slapping onto the polished oak wood floors, walking past priceless paintings, tapestries, and family portraits hanging on the walls before he made into the kitchen.

"Mr. Riddle! Do you need another Pimm?" asked the flustered maid Mrs. Bryce.

"No, please leave," he said abruptly. He could not bring himself to feel sorry when he saw the shocked expression on her face before she left. Tom sat at a circular wooden table, sinking his head into his hands, pushing after pushing away the crystal vase filled with yellow and orange carnation away from him to allow him to lean more fully over the table.

Merope. A son? How? How did I not know? Surely I should have? Maybe he's not mine! No, she named him after me. Did she ever mention being pregnant?'

Tom reluctantly tried to remember the last time he saw Merope Gaunt. It was difficult; he could not remember much anything of the three months they had been married. Mostly just feeling… strange, not himself, like he had no control. And… obsession. He remembered always wanting to please her. Even going as far as to marry her, apparently. Sleep with her? The thought made him queasy and he groaned into his hands.

What happened the last time you saw Merope, Tom? Think!

It was … like waking up from a hazy dream, he recalled. A hotel room in London. I eloped with her and we went to London.

_..._

_Tom looked around dazed and confused, nothing looked familiar. I have a feeling, like I've just woken up from an awful dream, he thought. He was now really starting to worry._

_"Where am I?" he spoke aloud in the empty room. He looked around the small room. An inn? he wondered. There was tacky yellow wall paper and brown carpeted floors . The room had a wardrobe, two chairs, a small table and a bed. The sheets of the bed were rumpled. Did I sleep there last night? How did I get here? The last thing he could remember was passing through the valley on his horse and being offered a glass to drink by the wench from the shack._

_It had been a hot day. Merope. Had she something to do with this? For some reason he could not explain, his stomach dropped when he thought of her. Tom turned his head as he heard on of the two doors in the room open._

_There stood Merope in a faded purple dress with yellow daisies. She looked much cleaner than he remembered. Her hair was combed and she did not look so sickly thin any longer. But her eyes still stared in opposite directions, her face was still gaunt, grey and she looked meek. She looked nervous._

_"Tom?" she asked quietly._

_. . ._

Tom then remembered her begging him not to leave as soon as he started to panic at being in some dodgy hotel with the tramp's daughter. What had she done to him? Tom could not recall her saying she was pregnant, of maybe he did not hear her over his hysterical shouting and her sniveling she look pregnant? No. Maybe. I don't know! That day passed in a blur to me! thought Tom distraught.

His hands trembled all the while. This was the most he had thought of that day since it passed. He tried very hard to not think of those days. Ever.

Tom finished the drinks and headed back out to the girl, Jean. 'What does she know about my son?'he wondered.

It was a while later when Tom finally came back out.

"Tell me about my son."

"I don't know much. He lives in London at a mu- an orphanage. Wool's. He should be…ten now. I've heard he's your spitting image…and I know that he is intelligent."

"I see," said Tom, then he swallowed hard. He brought the cold glass to his lips and took a sip.

"Will you go to claim him?" Hermione asked, staring him straight in his eyes.

"I-I want to," he said turning away.

"But you won't?" she questioned feeling disappointment, anger, but at the same time understanding.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"My parents would never allow it. Support it. I couldn't bring him here. Where would we go? How would I provide for him? I can't leave my family!" Tom rushed out, realizing the complications as soon as he voiced them aloud.

"I expected as much."

She had. Thomas and Mary Riddle had been so against Merope, they had almost turned Tom away. How would they react? Having a grandson born by the ghastly Merope? But she was dead now. Maybe, without Merope to drag him down, Tom Marvolo Riddle could stand a chance in winning the hearts of the Riddle couple. He had been known to charm before.

Tom watched as Hermione's brow furrowed deep in concentration. He wondered what she was scheming, and wondered what his parents would do if they found he had a son. 'Disown me,' he thought bitterly.

He was interrupted from his sulking when Hermione firmly said, "Go to London with me and claim your son." Before he could interrupt, she charged on. "Bring him here to your mother and father. Explain to them you could not leave a Riddle in an orphanage. They might understand. Merope has passed, so they may be more lenient," she muttered. "Besides, he looks the perfect Riddle and is charming too. But, if they still don't agree, I'll take care of it." She said confidently. She turned to leave.

"Think about it. Please. I'll return in two days. Prepare to leave for London if you decide to collect Tom!" she called out over her shoulder.

She was walking down the lawn toward the country road, and then disappeared through the tall hedges. Tom stood still at her abrupt leave before tearing across the grass to demand answers.

'How does she know of my son? Did she know Merope? How did she die? How was she going to 'take care of it'?

He wanted to tell her he already knew his answer.

He stopped instantly and stumbled to his knees as he saw something impossible through the hedges. After turning her head right then left around her, the girl disappeared! Tom sucked in a breath, his hands in the trimmed green grass, staring at the point from which Hermione had just disappeared from. Another question was blaring over the barrage of other questions running through his head.

"What are you?"


	5. The Leaky

Hermione arrived in a secluded alley by the Leaky Cauldron. She was tired and in need a meal and a bath. She marveled that this was actually happening to her. Time Travel, that is. Entering the Leaky Cauldron, she briskly walked towards a half a century younger Tom the barman. This really was happening. Returning the greeting from him, Hermione quickly exchanged her galleons for her room key. Bounding up the creaking wooden stairs, she made her way into her room, locking it behind her.

Hermione quickly shed her clothes, taking in the paisley purple wallpaper, a small bed, with an ugly quilted blanket, a desk and chair, a wardrobe, a bedside table, and a bathroom door. Treading across the carpet, she entered the bathroom and drew the taps after a quick "scourgify."

"Accio beaded bag." The blue bag soared through the opened door and landed with a rattle in her hand and she summoned fresh clothes.

It didn't take long after sinking under the pink bubbles of the bath that the gears in her head started whirling. She carefully began to calculate and plot her next move.

She shivered as her body was engulfed in warmth and she let out a sigh, feeling safer than she had in a long time.

She needed to go back soon.

_It's safe here, _a soft voice reasoned at the back of her mind_. You don't know how the future will change yet, _she reminded herself. She dreaded seeing ruin upon returning to the future, to see it left in the same state she had left it in.

Pushing that awful thought away, Hermione continued on to another problem. How she would be 'handling it, that is to say, Tom and Mary Riddle if things did not go smoothly

_Magic, obviously. The imperius? _She grimaced at the thought of controlling innocent muggles. _But if the ends can justify the means…_

"Arghh!" she growled, scrubbing her arm fiercely, though she was careful to avoid cuts and bruises. Her thoughts drifted to Dumbledore_. His death. Falling off the tower on that warm, breezy night. His wrinkled face frozen, his blue eyes glassy with a look of acceptance captured in his expression. His blackened hand stretched out before him as he hit the ground._

Troubled, she thought of other alternatives. _Confundus charm? Memory charms? Possibly. But only if necessary! _she insisted to herself.

That he could be helped, and that the future could be changed. For the better. '_I could just kill him,'_she thought, her heart beating rapidly at the thought. '_It would be so easy, quick.' _But Hermione knew she wouldn't. _This is a chance to start over. Don't abuse it. _She fingered the small gold necklace around her neck.

She shook her head and attempted to finger comb her knotted hair. Stepping out of the bath, she unplugged the drain and wrapped a fluffy white towel she had grabbed off a hook near the door, around her. Taking her wand, she performed a hair drying charm and tossed her towel onto the floor. Now that the grime and sweat had been washed off her, bruises covered her body as well as pale pink scars.

She grimaced at her sickly appearance. "_You need some weight on you dear,"_ Molly had remarked during one of their last meetings. Hermione missed Molly's motherly care immensely. _But I'm doing this for them. I'll see them soon._

Hermione debated going down to the bar to grab a bite to eat. But she was just so exhausted. So she brushed her teeth, as she always made sure to.

She walked out the bathroom, past her clothes strewn across the floor, and she sat upon her bed before falling into her deepest sleep since the war had begun.


	6. The First Meeting

Tom stood under the shaded doorway of Wool's Orphanage, seemingly indifferent to the shrilly wails of the orphanage children. But how he hated it. Outside, children in their gray uniforms were playing in the hot summer sun, having finished performing their chores. Tom observed the other children for a minute longer, his cute nose slightly crinkling in disapproval, before slipping out, off towards the front fence of the orphanage.

He stopped at a small elm tree and bent down, reaching his little hand out and pushing aside some shrubbery. Tom forgot his earlier annoyance as he found what he had been searching for.

"Hello, little friend," he hissed to the snake.

"Hello, Tom," the snake responded politely as it slithering into Tom's hand, its black scales shining. "Have the humans been treating you well? No? What a shame," it hissed quietly.

Tom shrugged indifferently. The snake, sensing Tom's mood, changed the subject swiftly. "Tell me Tom, about your newest book."

. . .

A blaring alarm woke her from her dreams.

Reaching out, her slim finger finally turned off her alarm, though not before some other guest had thrown their pillow against the opposite wall. Sitting up, she ran her hands down her face. Switching on her light, she summoned her beaded bag and retrieved her trousers and shirt which she slipped into. Stumbling to the bathroom, Hermione prepared for the day. She also braided her hair down to her back; tying it off with the hair ribbon she had left on the counter. Feeling refreshed, she tugged on sandals. Slipping her bag into the pocket of her robe, Hermione headed out the door.

It was quiet in the hallway when she locked her door. With the rest of the guests asleep, she quietly made her way down the creaky wooden steps. Upon arriving at the first floor, she saw a hag sleeping in a puffy red chair and a shady looking man holding a fire whiskey, murmuring quietly to himself. She walked out of the establishment and into the dewey london streets.

It was as though she had walked straight into an old black and white film. Women dressed modestly in long skirts and men in their business suits dressed to the nines, it was quite unnerving. Panicking, she slipped into an alley and transfigured her corduroys into a skirt that reached below her knees. After, she patted down her hair and stepped out into the busy streets once more, making her way to Wool's orphanage.

She had visited it once before, months ago in the future during the search for Voldemort's horcruxes with Harry and Ron. There hopes had been dashed upon discovering that the orphanage had been demolished and turned into an office block.

A cricket hanging sign informed her that she had reached Wool's. The building was square and surrounded by high stone railings. It looked rundown but clean.

She stood at the Iron gate that was placed between the high stone walls and stood for a while observing the younger children as they played and the older children lounging under the shade of few trees scattered around the lawn. Her eyes stopped at a boy sitting alone on a bench under a tree.

"Alohamora," she spoke then pushed the door open after hearing the click of the lock. The younger children paused in their games to watch the strange woman, but quickly resumed their games when they saw her strolling towards Tom and then sit beside the cruel boy.

Tom, feeling the shift of the bench and feeling the presence of another orphan who dared to sit beside him, slowly lowered his book to tell the annoying ninny to leave. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Tom waited for the older girl to speak, but she said nothing.

"Who're you?"

She turned her head towards him and he thought she might be scrutinizing him, as her eyes watched him sharply.

Hermione, for some reason she could not explain, was suddenly furious. _Who is this little brat! Who am __I__? After everything you'll grown to put me through!_

Hermione tensed before turning back towards him. She inspected thoroughly, taking in the boys faded grey uniform, his neatly parted black hair, his straight little nose , and long lashes that curtained his sharp eyes. He took after his father, except for the color of his eyes. The boy's were grey. And he looked perfect. Like an angel. Only his expression, mistrusting and unkind, marred the image. Hermione very nearly growled at him.

_But he hasn't become him_ _yet._ And with that very thought, the boy's fate was sealed.

"Jean," she exhaled in a shaky breath.

Tom watched her hand as it slipped from her pocket and was proffered to him. Putting down his book beside him, he eyed her skinny wrist before wearily letting her grasp his small hand in hers.

"Tom Riddle," Hermione said for him when he did not offer his name to her. Tom immediately grabbed his hand back.

"How d'you know my name? Did Mrs. Cole ask you here?"

_T_om's voice was childish and he slurred his words slightly.

She withdrew her hand and shoved it back into her pocket. Turning her head back forward, she simply shrugged.

"Do you believe in second chances? That everyone deserves one, Riddle?" She desperately wished to know.

But he didn't answer her. "Are you here to adopt? There are lots of crying babies inside."

She looked at him for a moment. "I came here to see you. I'll see you again tomorrow too," she said getting up from the bench."

"You won't," he said.

"Tomorrow," she said tersely. Leaving through the gates she muttered a hasty "colloportus".

What was that strange feeling in her gut? She couldn't possibly pity Voldemort. But pity for that little boy...?

Possibly.


	7. Leaving The Orphanage

Tom was in his small room, sitting on his cot reading a book. The walls of the room were grey and made of concrete. In the room was also a wardrobe and a desk and chair. That was all. A knock sounded on his door and it opened revealing Mrs. Cole. _What could I have done now? Why is she here?_

"Tom, There is a gentleman and young lady to see you," said Mrs. Cole, as she straightened his collar and brushed a misplaced lock of hair out of his face. "They're in my office right now. Remember to greet them kindly!" she said as she ushered him out into the hall.

Tom walked down the hall then the narrow stairs of the orphanage. _Visitors? _He wondered who they could be. He thought of the lady from yesterday.

He reached the top of the stairs and walked to Mrs. Cole's office. He could hear a man's deep voice mumbling.

He reached for the handle and slowly opened the door his heart beating quickly.

Inside Mrs. Cole's office, he saw a man and a woman seated in front of the desk who stood when he entered the room. Tom's eyes immediately widened when he saw who she was. He looked back at the man who gestured for him to sit in Mrs. Cole's chair.

Behind him, Mrs. Cole gave nudged his back, directing him towards the chair. The man was smartly dressed in black and grey, _obviously wealthy_, he thought as he sat into Mrs. Cole's chair and faced the two adults. The Man sat down again.

Tom Sr. was fascinated by the child sitting facing him. _Yes, the boy is most definitely mine. _He brought up his hand to the child to shake and he felt something like a shock run through him as he held his son's hand. The boy withdrew it quickly though.

"Are you a doctor?" his son asked him, looking at him, then Hermione suspiciously.

Tom Sr. turned to Hermione confused. _A doctor? _Hermione though, barely just held in rolling her eyes at the child.

"Tom!" Mrs. Cole exclaimed embarrassed.

Tom Sr. turned back to his son and said, "No. My name is Tom Riddle. I'm your- father, son." He searched his son's face but only got his son's best poker face.

Nervously, he quickly rushed on, "I had a falling out with your- mother, before you were born and we parted. She told me not a word that she was with child at the time. I would have come sooner, but I just recently discovered your existence." The boy did not speak. "I came to collect you and bring you to live in Riddle Manor with me and your grandmother and grandfather. If you choose to do so."

Tom was stunned,though he didn't let it show. This was all happening so fast. _My father? "If you would like." Of course I want to leave this place! Why is she here?_

Tom Sr., who saw his son's gaze drift to Jean said, "This is Jean Grant, a friend of mine."

"Tom, this nice man has already started filling out the necessary paperwork. You can leave today."

Tom nodded his reply.

"Excellent!" said his father who then stood, smiling broadly. "Do you want to collect your things? Jean can go with you, I'll just have these papers signed, and we'll meet you outside," he said kindly.

Hermione followed Tom out the room and they both stood in the narrow hall, then Tom lead the way to his room. Inside, Hermione scanned the small room that was standard and bare. Tom stood with his hands in his pockets, scuffling his feet. He had nothing he wanted to take. Not his uniforms, the books weren't his and-. Tom walked over to the wardrobe and retrieved a small box from under a frayed blanket.

Hermione watched as Tom pulled out a box from the wardrobe and was debating the idea of pulling a Dumbledore on him. _Thats the fastest way to lose his trust,_ she thought, thinking of Tom's relationship with the old professor that had resulted from Dumbledore's disapproval. But then, Tom did something she hadn't expected. He lay the box down on his bed, then walked towards where she was standing by the door.

"Won't you need that?' she asked genuinely curious.

"No" he spoke stiffly in his childish voice, before walking past her into the hall.

. . .

Tom watched out his window as the car drove through London. He had ridden a bus before, during the the annual orphanage holiday trips to the beach, but he had never been in a car before.

Tom thought back to the orphanage just before he had left. Outside the gates, Mrs. Cole had straightened his tie for him and told him to be well and continue his studies. Mrs. Cole had been kind to him and had treated him very fairly, so he did not protest, though he really wished to, when Mrs. Cole had bent down to him and gave him a brief hug. He did not miss the strange look that crossed Hermione's face.

Outside, Tom could see cars passing them buy, finely dressed couples walking the sidewalks, shops, cafes, and tall business buildings. It was a lot of color compared to the dull orphanage, he decided.

As they drove, Hermione wondered if Tom would tell his son what to expect when they were to arrive at Riddle Manor.

"Riddle manor is in Little Hangleton, about two hours from here." Tom Sr. Told his son, a poor attempt at conversation.

Tom only nodded.

"Tom, my parents are not aware that I am bringing you home, they don't even know I have a son yet. They were not, fond, of Merope, so I don't know how they will act towards meeting you," he said, staring straight ahead out the windshield.

Tom looked over at his father, "You didn't tell them about me?" asked quietly.

"No, I only learned of you a little more than a day ago, and If I had told my parents, I'm not so sure they would have approved. When they heard of my relationship with Merope, they wanted nothing to do with me. When I returned to them, they threatened disinherit me if I had anything more to do with her."

Tom's eyes were angry, but his voice was almost too calm when he asked, "So you left my mother because your parents told you to?"

Tom Sr. was feeling horribly conflicted. How could he explain to Tom that he had never loved Merope in the first place? How could he explain this to Tom and tarnish his son's perception of his mother? On one hand, he wanted to call Merope out, but on the other, he did not want to defile her memory to the only person who she would have truly loved.

So instead he said, "They're my parents Tom, please understand that they were my only family. But now I have you,now, so even if when I bring you to meet them and they do not approve of you, I shall stand by you." As he said these words, he knew they really were true.

His son's anger seemed to dissipate, to his relief. They sat in the car in not an uncomfortable silence.

The sky had darkened to a violet and red shade when they arrived to Little Hangleton. Tom was inside the car waiting with Hermione for his father to return from the manor.

"Why did you come to see me yesterday?" Tom asked.

Hermione turned to face Tom, who was leaning his forehead against the window. "I was curious about you," she answered truthfully.

"I'm sure your grandparents will come around." Hermione said, looking him in the eyes.

"He says they didn't like my mother. They're taking a while," said Tom as his eyes flickered toward the manor.

"Regardless, It will work out. These sorts of things always do, eventually. Try to be understanding. They are your family, and you only get one."

_My mother and father were family, but he still left her_ Tom thought bitterly.

Tom Sr. Appeared on the porch and waved them in.

After Tom Sr. had ushered them inside, he said to Tom smiling stightly, "Your grandparents have retired for the night and have requested to meet you tomorrow over breakfast. You are to sleep in the room upstairs in the right wing, second door down the hall. I've had it prepared for you. Wash up and come down here to meet me for dinner. You must be hungry."

Tom nodded at his father, then Hermione, before walking up the carpeted wooden steps. Tom and Hermione were in the sitting room after Tom had requested the maid to make a large supper.

"Everything went well?" asked Hermione, who was sitting on the floral couch. "They were shocked at first, then angry that I brought him. But after what I've said, they're considering. Hopefully they'll have calmed by tomorrow. I'm expecting things to go well."

"That's excellent!" Hermione exclaimed, delighted at the progress. "I'll be leaving now then."

"So soon?" Tom asked rising with her.

"But it's already dark out! Where are you staying? You're not exactly from here, are you? You are welcome to stay here, we have many rooms."

"I have something I want to check on as soon as possible."

"You'll be traveling by magic, I assume?"

"Yes."

As she stood outside the door she paused then turning around she said,"Mr. Riddle, I should tell you, next summer a man will come here and offer Tom a spot in his school. You must accept."

Although this confused him, he nodded and promised that he would allow his son to go.

"I'll be leaving now, It was nice to meet you." Hermione said as she held out her hand for Tom to shake. "Please raise him well."

Standing in the dark street in the village of Little Hangleton, Hermione shivered. Pulling out her Time turner from under her dress, she spun the largest dial forward three times. As she disappeared into the dark, into time, she could only think of home.


	8. The Future And Meeting Caradoc

She felt as though she was flying backwards very fast, her ears were pounding- and then she felt solid land beneath her feet. Hermione instantly fell to her knees and vomited on moist forest floors as memories of this future slowly sank into her. She was hacking and her arms trembled under her weight. She shakily stood and brought her fist to her mouth- Hermione quickly rolled onto the ground to her left, her senses on hyper alert. A flash of purple hit the ground where she had stood seconds before.

"Hermione!" a deep voice yelled. She would recognize it anywhere. Then a figure came into her line of sight and, before she could comprehend it, was hauling her off, dragging her its dead sprint. Her heart beat so fast her chest hurt.

_Harry!_ What was happening? Footsteps sounded faintly behind them. Hermione's feet were moving mechanically beneath her. The footsteps echoed further and further away from them as they sprinted on mossy soil and hurtled over fallen tree trunks. Hermione could hardly see where she was going, her sight blurred tears of exhaustion and she tripped over a tree's root. Hermione fell and could not bring herself up. She was too worn out. Too confused. "Hermione!" Harry shrieked, incredulous at her. _Why wasn't she getting up?!_

Harry's Bright green eyes turned hard in determination before he fell back to help her. Hermione snapped out of her daze and began to rise to meet Harry. A curse sliced her back and she would have screamed if she had had any breath left in her.

"Hermione!" Harry screamed, his voice raw. "Avada Kedavra!"

A second later, Harry joined Hermione's side breathing hard. "Hermione, get up!" his voice cracked as he wrapped her arm over his shoulder. "There are more coming! If we can reach that point over there, we'll be able to apparate out. Come on!"

Together the duo made their way to the distance that was untouched by the Death eater's anti-apparition ward, Hermione more of a dead weight to Harry. They had reached the clearing and Hermione and Harry could briefly make out the sounds of Death Eaters scouring the forest, before Harry apparated them away.

They arrived on the steps of a small brick house with a patch of weeds as a poor excuse for a garden . The house was one in a long row of houses, muggle, by the cars parked in the driveways. Harry kicked roughly on the chipped white door, as his hands were occupied with holding up his friend. The door was opened, and a wand was pointed at them by a man standing only slightly out the door way. She could not see much of him, only that he was tall and burly, wearing long jacket. "What is my animagus form?" the man gruffly demanded. "You don't have an animagus form." Harry quickly answered. "Help me in will you? Hermione's been cursed." The man opened the door wide and rushed them in after looking suspiciously up and down the streets.

Inside, Hermione was bleeding on dirty, tan carpeted floors as Harry lugged her towards the sitting room's couch. Hermione took in the empty white walls and the bare room that only held a couch, a t.v. on a dresser, and a brick fireplace. From her memories of this place that she was recollecting, she could devise that it was a safe house for the Order Of the Phoenix. It was the home of- "It was about time you opened the damn door, Caradoc." Harry said to the man swearing. "Hermione's been hurt."

"You know I have to ask Potter, its standard procedure." Caradoc grunted.

As Harry guided Hermione onto the couch to lay on her stomach, Hermione watched curiously as Caradoc rummaged through the dresser's drawers for medical supplies. Harry had never been good at healing charms, and Hermione assumed this man was the same.

"Hermione what's the spell to heal wounds like this?"

"Hmm? oh ah, _Episky _should do it Harry, How bad is it?"

Harry didn't answer and Hermione cringed as she felt the area of skin on her upper back knit slowly knit together.

_Carodoc Dearborn, he was an order member for the original order! He's alive in this time though._Caradoc had auburn hair that came down to his neck. He had brown eyes and a square jaw.

"And what in the hell are you wearing a skirt for Hermione? Going to a fancy party were you?" Caradoc suddenly reprimanded her as he handed Harry a towel he had dampened with his wand. Harry carefully wiped the blood off her back.

"Hermione, you weren't wearing that before I before I lost sight of you back in the forest."

Hermione was saved from having to respond when Caradoc interrupted asking, "How did the mission go by the way?" Harry turned away from Hermione to discuss the attack.

Hermione stood from the couch, taking the bloodied towel from Harry and vanished it. Hermione walked over to the drawers as Harry discussed the mission he and Hermione of this time, had apparently been on. Stumbling to the dresser, she looked into the draw Caradoc had left open and grabbed a blood replenishing potion.

She downed the contents before tossing the bottle back into the drawer. She stumbled down the hall, to a bathroom. Inside, Hermione quickly change into her sneakers and out of her clothes from the past. Hermione leaned onto the sink, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was quite pale and under her eyes were bruised.

_This is wrong. Harry was not supposed to be so dirty and beat up. Harry was not supposed to kill so easily. _For whatever reason, Tom had still become Voldemort.

"I have to go back," Hermione said, voice raspy, as her eyes began to water. _It's not like you expected this to be that easy. Get a hold of your self! _she reprimanded herself.

Stepping over her ruined dress and muddy shoes, Hermione made her way back to the sitting room._This is so surreal,_ she thought as she walked into the unfamiliar yet familiar, only by memory, house.

"Hermione, Caradoc says there's an order meeting to be held soon. We ought to floo to Grimmauld soon to give our report."

"Of, of course- Harry, do you mind if I go out for a bit first, I need a bit of fresh air I think."

It was Caradoc who responded. "Hermione, you're not supposed to be out in the open like that. You know that. You could be tracked."

"I'll be just a minute, I promise. I can take care of myself."

"And that's why you returned here bleeding all over my floor?" he countered.

"I'll be careful, I won't go far."

Hermione was about ready to beg when Harry said, "She said she'd stay close. You'll be quick won't you?"

Hermione nodded eagerly and Caradoc unwillingly gave her his approval. Hermione turned to leave but stopped, then swiftly walked to Harry and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"You know I'll come back for you, right?"

Harry, though he was confused nodded and said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Of course, Hermione."

Once outside the brick safe house, Hermione exhaled a large breath and shoved her hands into her pocket before making her way down the street. It was cool outside and leaves on a few sparse trees were tones of orange and gold. Her back ached. Stopping at a secluded bus stop behind a mesh fence, she apparated out of view.

Hermione was landed in a village that was empty of inhabitants. The houses and building were run down and some were just piles of burned rubble. This was Little Hangleton in this future. Hermione could not bring herself to be surprised. She apparated once more and this time she appeared on the porch of Riddle Manor. Big mistake. As soon as she appeared, she felt that she had shifted a protective ward placed on the building. Adrenaline rushed through her causing her hand to stumble as she pulled her Time Turner from her neck. She heard Cracks of Apparition around the porch and the red flash of a stupefy came towards her, but with three turns of necklace, she was gone.


	9. Meeting In The Library

"Tom! Tom! Come quickly! Tom!" Mary Riddle, ever so pristine and graceful, now hurriedly retreated back through the doorway, away from the figure that lay crumpled on white manor's porch.

Tom Riddle Sr.'s shoes thudded heavily over polished floors to where his mother had cried out, his heart beating quickly in trepidation. "Mother, are you-" he stopped short. He took in the face of the young woman he had not seen in over a year. He hurried to her form, lifted her and turned back into the house.

"Tom! What are you- do you know her?"

"Yes she's a friend."

"She's, she's not one of them, is she?" Tom nodded.

Mary's face turned grave, then she gathered her skirt and followed Tom, as he carried the unconscious girl upstairs to a guest room, "Well regardless, the girls will need taken care of."

When Hermione woke, she immediately rose to sit, then groaned at the headache her sudden movement caused. _Where am I? What happened?_ Hermione panicked, but calmed quickly when she realized she was at the Riddle's. Her eyes looked into the dark at the large room, able to see only by moon's light that shone through a row of large, arching windows on the wall to her right. She sighed and slowly sank back into the heavy, silky sheets of the large bed and tugged the blanket over her shoulders. "Tempus," she whispered into the dark. _October 4, 1939._

_1939, so Tom will be in his - second year of Hogwarts already!_ Hermione had so much more to think about, to plan, and to scheme. But instead, the brunette fell asleep in her warm cocoon. Time Travel really wore her out, and her body could not take such large leaps in time. So before drifting into her vibrant dreams, she vowed to use her time turner with more caution. _After all, I can't change the future if I die._

When Hermione woke the next morning, it was to the sounds of someone bustling about her room. Slowly getting up, she was met with the view of a woman with pale, blonde hair in neatly coiffed waves . She was dressed in expensive, tailored clothes. An ankle length dress in lilac. "Awake, are you? How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I-I'm fine. Thank you. Mrs. Riddle, I presume?"

"Yes, but you may call me Mary. My Tom tells me you are to thank for bringing my grandson, Tom, to us."

Hermione nodded.

"Tom also tells me you're a- witch."

Hermione nodded again.

"I am assuming you came here for a purpose. Did you come to see young Tom?"

"Yes," she said more confidently

"Well you won't find him here, he is at his boarding school in Scotland."

"I see, I'm sorry to have bothered you," Hermione spoke while getting up, "I'll be on my way then."

Hermione walked toward the door when Mrs. Riddle spoke. "Tom seems very, troubled. When he is at home, he barely talks to his father or his grandfather and I. It's been like this since he arrived. We've tried to get him to open up, but nothing seems to work. It is most distressing and my son is quite troubled by Tom's behaviors."

Hermione nodded to Mrs. Riddle. "Thank you," she spoke, then left the room.

She was downstairs in the dining room, when she found Tom Riddle Sr.

"Hello Mr. Riddle," she said while lingering in the stairway.

"Jean, I was quite surprised to see you. Its been a long time."

"I'm sorry."

Tom just waved it off and gestured for her to sit beside her where he was drinking a cuppa.

"Yes, please. No sugar." she said when he offered her a cup.

"You came to see Tom then?"

"Yes. Mrs. Riddle tells me Tom's been distant."

"Yes."

"And you wouldn't happen to know why Tom is acting this way?" Hermione asked, desperate to find the source of the problem. _Why isn't this going as I planned?_

"No, he's been this way since he arrived with us. Where have you been? He used to ask about you in the beginning. Where you were, how you knew me. If you were coming back to visit again."

"I tried to come sooner. I can't-" _control - _"I don't get to decide when I can come. I'm sorry."

Tom was confused.

"Alright then." Tom said. "I understand everything clearly now."

Hermione shrugged.

"Why are you so interested in Tom?" He asked changing the subject abruptly.

Hermione looked down at her white cup laced with blue and gold. Lifting the china from its matching saucer, she took a sip, avoiding Tom's question.

"Well, Jean?"

Putting down her cup quickly, she suddenly rose. "I think I'll be going now. Thank you for taking care of me. Really. And I'm terribly sorry if I startled you with my sudden appearance."

"It was not so much your arrival, but the state you arrived in." Tom answered. Sighing he rose and followed Hermione out the kitchen to the front door.

Once outside on the porch, Tom asked, "Since you returned this time, am I right to assume that I shall be seeing more of you in the future?"

"Yes."

"But you won't know when you will arrive?"

"Yes, truly."

Tom nodded in acceptance. He still did not understand, but after all, there were many things in life he knew he would never fully be able to understand. _Like magic. _He watched unfazed as Hermione disappeared from his sight.

Hermione arrived in the little village of Hogsmeade. The streets were occupied by busy villagers and wandering Hogwarts Students. Hermione, entered _Honeydukes _crowded with students on their Hogsmeade weekend. Green shelves and displayed brightly colored candy packages. Acid pop's, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Exploding Snaps, Pepper Imps, and Sugar Quills. Hermione's feet trod over sticky candies that lay forgotten on the black and white checkered floors.

In the dark cellar, Hermione set her bag down to crouch on the ground and remove the floor board. Slipping the bag's handle around her wrist, she jumped down the hole and landed in the dirty stone passageway. Using her wand, Hermione levitated the floor board back into place. "Lumos," She whispered and she walked by wand light until the she reached a dead end. "Dissendium." Hermione stood back as the stone floors shifted and created a stairwell and the ceiling opened up letting in light. Hermione walked up the stairs and climbed out of the opening of the One Eyed Witch's hump, landing on the the stone ground of the third floor of Hogwarts.

The hump on the witch's back closed back up as Hermione summoned The Marauder's Map from her beaded bag. She carefully unfolded the frail parchment.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Black ink seeped onto the paper displaying the map of Hogwarts. She quickly found Tom's dot on the third floor walking beside two other dots.

"Mischief managed," she said hastily and she quickly placed the folded parchment back into her beaded bag.

She cast the disillusionment charm on herself before venturing to down to the halls that held hundreds of portraits. She walked quietly down the halls past open arched doors of the library until she found Tom with two other boys wearing Slytherin green ties.

Hermione silently cast _diffindo_ towards the strap of Tom's satchel. Tom's bag split. Parchment, quills and books fell out of it and onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed.

"Don't bother." Tom said quietly as his friends bent down to help him. He had seen the perfect tear in the bag and knew that the spell had been sent his way purposely. "I've just remembered I've left something in the Library. Head back to the common room without me." The two slytherins complied, heading toward the wide, stone staircase.

Tom pulled out his wand from his pocket and mended his bag. He cast scourgify to remove the ink and vanished the broken bottle. He placed his things back into the bag and reached for his ink bottle. It moved right before he could grab it. He stood up and looked across the hallway, but he saw no one.

He slowly reached down to grab it when it moved a foot away from him. Straightening up, he took a step toward the bottle. It moved away again. Frowning, he walked after the bottle as it lead him into the library. He maneuvered across red carpeted floors, in between criss-crossed study tables, and passed polished wooden shelves that lined the pale stone walls. The bottle finally stopped, hovering in the air above a wooden table placed under a stained glass window in a far corner of the library.

Tom eyed the bottle and slowly reached for it. Just before he touched it, a hand appeared around it. Startled, he looked up and saw the face of a girl he had not seen in a very long time.

"Hello Tom," Hermione said as she forced a meek smile.

He didn't answer.

Hermione noticed that he had grown several inches since she last saw him. His brows furrowed and he slowly reached out, his fingertips touched her hand before he quickly retracted them.

"Jean?" He pulled out the chair across from her and slowly sat in it.

"Why are you here?" he asked suspiciously.

"I needed to see you."

Tom paused. "I meant, how are you here."

"I snuck into the castle."

"Yes, but how can you be here."

Hermione got what he was getting at. "I'm a witch."

"Yes, you must be." He said rolling his eyes. I mean-." He frowned and he looked up at her sharply.

"Did you know that I was a wizard?" Tom asked.

"Well, yes. Of course I did."

Tom was quiet. Then, "Why. Didn't. You. Tell. Me?"

"Would you have believed me?" Hermione knew this was a weak argument. She knew he would say-

"Yes!" he hissed.

Hermione swallowed hard. "I'm sorry then." She wasn't.

Finally Tom asked, "Where have you been?"

"Far away. I have a- situation I have to deal with. I'm trying very hard to fix it."

"It's taking this long? What is it?" he demanded.

Hermione smiled slightly as she said, "Nothing that a little second year should worry about."

Tom's frown deepened. If he was being honest with himself, he was feeling more emotions then he would like. Surprise? Yes. Anger? Yes. Annoyance, curiosity, and maybe a little bit of something else? Yes.

Hermione pulled Tom out of his internal ramblings. "How have you been Tom?"


	10. Too Late

Hermione sat alone at a wooden table in Hogwart's library. The librarian had left and the only light that shone was the moon's through the window. Hermione had sat in there since Tom had left and only removed the disillusionment charm after the library had emptied. She was tired and hungry and sore. She had been seriously reflecting her body and it showed. But all she could think of was home._Fix the future, then you can go home._ She hated being in the past. Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her fists over her eyes. She wanted to scream.

Standing up, she untucked her time turner from her sweater. Holding it in front of her she pondered how far forward she should travel. _I promised Tom I would come as visit as soon as I could._ Four rings. Twenty years, one year, one month, one hour. Hermione's fingers reached for the ring that would take her forward one month. Hermione heard a in barely perceptible noise near her. Her head rose on high alert, she saw no one but her fingers hurriedly fumbled to spin the dial. She disappeared without a sound.

A moment later, another figure appeared in the library. It was a tall man in a violet sleeping robe that was littered flashing shooting stars. A matching hat lay upon long auburn hair. Blue eyes twinkled in curiosity, his brow slightly furrowed, as he walked towards the girl had sat.

He had stayed up very late that night contemplating how to stop a certain dark wizard and his reign of terror. He had come to the library to read ,_The Tale of The Three Brothers_, when he saw a strange girl sitting at a table. He has used a disillusionment charm on himself and walked closer to get a better view. He realised that the girl was not a student, and was about to confront her when she made a gesture of utter hopelessness. She looked tired and beaten. Then she stood abruptly and pulled out a- _Time Turner!_

He had gasped in surprise and the girl disappeared. So now he stood here. _Curious things, time turners. Time travelers. Why did you come here?_ He decided he would not inform Armando of the intruder. After all, she was gone now. _But where to?_

Hermione felt as though she were flying backwards very fast, her ears were pounding- and then she felt solid land beneath her feet. She landed beside the table and fell to the ground gasping, gripping the leg of the table. Her head was pounding and she needed to- no, she was fine now. Looking up, she saw there were no students around. Pulling out the Marauder's Map, she searched for Tom's dot but could not find it. _Where could he be? Did something happen to Tom? _She stood immediately and walked up to the first person she saw, a dark haired girl in Ravenclaw robes, who looked around her age, browsing the shelves on Magical Theory.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you happen to know where I could find Tom Riddle?"

"Tom, well, I'd imagine he'd be in Hogsmeade with his friends. Who are you exactly? I've not seen you here before." the girl said curiously.

"Thank you very much. I'll be leaving then," Hermione said, then swiftly walked away, leaving the behind a startled blue eyed girl.

_Hogsmeade? I suppose they let second years go during this time? I don't recall reading about this in Hogwart: A History._ Hermione walked down the stone floors of the third floor passing empty classrooms and suits of armour, though no students to her relief. She reached the statue of the one eyed witch. In front of it she spoke, "Dissendium." The hump slid out of place and she slid through the tunnel until she his solid ground. Dusting herself off, she stood and raised her wand to light her way to Honeydukes cellar.

Upon entering Honeydukes he made her way through the throng of Hogwarts students buying their brightly wrapped sweets and exited the shop. Outside it was chilly, causing goose bumps to rise on her skin and she shivered. She reached out her arm to stop a boy in slytherin robes. He was young and blonde with brown eyes and a serious face.

"Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Tom Riddle?" The Boy pointed towards _The Three Broomsticks_ and shrugging off her arm, quickly went on his way. Inside the shop was warm and crowded. Though it was a bit smoky, it was clean and welcoming. Hermione glanced around and spotted Tom sitting at a back table with a group of rowdy boys. They were mostly slytherin though there were a few ravenclaws and even a hufflepuff. She cautiously made her way toward the laughing boys.

Tom stilled his chuckling and frowned in annoyance as he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned to tell off whoever it was who was touching him when he saw Hermione.

"Hello Tom. Can we talk?"

Tom stood and followed her to an empty table, leaving his friends to stare curiously at their backs. They sat and a barmaid in glittering heels came from the bar, though not before checking her reflection in the large mirror behind it, to take their order.

"What can I get you?" she asked them, staring unashamedly at Tom while twirling her ponytail around her finger.

"Two butterbeers, please," Hermione ordered for them.

Tom frowned. The girl nodded jotting the order down with her fluffy pink quill. Tom reached into his robe for his money pouch and paid the maid, who winked at Tom before bounding off.

They sat in silence for a second. "Tom, how have-"

"Where have you been?" Tom asked abruptly.

Hermione started. _Is he angry? _"I-I haven't been away that long," she said confused. "It's only-"

"It's been a year, Jean." Tom interrupted coldly.

_A year? _Hermione thought confused. _The time turner should have taken forward only a month. I turned the- _Hermione's eyes widened as she recalled using the time turner, she had been startled and her fingers had fumbled with it. _I turned the wrong dial? But that means-_

"Jean? Are you listening?" Hermione looked at Tom more carefully. His face _did_ seem older and he sat a bit taller. _I need to find out the date. Now. _Hermione stood abruptly.

"Could you excuse me? Just for a second?" and she walked to the witch's restroom.

"Jean!" Tom hissed, but Hermione had already left.

Inside the bathroom was empty. "Tempus!" _December 2, 1940 1:34 am. 1940, so Tom's in his 3rd year now, but he'll turn fourteen in a month. _Hermione's breathing quickened. She really had come forward a whole year. She left the bathroom.

She walked towards the table where Tom sat, looking quite pissed. As she sat, she noticed that their order had come. She lifted the tankard to her mouth and took a long sip. When she finally looked at Tom, she almost cringed at his expression.

"Why did you leave?" Tom asked annoyed.

"I-I had to check-"

"Never mind that, why are you here now?"

"I told you I would visit you again." she said raising her voice.

"Soon. You said-"

"I couldn't come any earlier," Hermione insisted, angry now too.

Who the hell was he anyways? To be angry with her? Hermione wanted hex him into the next century. Besides, she had tried to come sooner. She was tired and her temper was short. She stood to leave. "I'm sorry I came then." Tom's face took on a strange expression, but she did not think of it, and she walked out the building where it was lightly snowing now.

Tom sat alone at the table angry and confused. Then he abruptly stood, leaving his unfinished drink in his wake.

Outside it was cold and snowing. He looked down the street and spotted Hermione a couple yards down. He reached out and grabbed her arm, causing her to stop and turn towards him. Her cheeks were pinched red from the cold and she had her arms crossed against her chest. Her eyes were hard and her lips slightly pursed as she faced him.

Hermione was quite surprised when she turned around to see watched as he began to take of his black cloak.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked him, still frowning.

"I- I'm giving you my cloak." He muttered, holding it out to her. "It's cold."

"Don't be silly, you'll catch a cold." And she began walking off. Hermione reasoned that Tom only offered her his cloak so as not to ruin his flawless reputation. She turned her head towards him when she saw he was still following her.

"What are you doing?" she asked harshly.

"Gee Jean, are you always this mean?" he asked her innocently.

The corner of Hermione's lip twitched, and she stopped walking to look at Tom more fully. She thought he looked cold and miserable, though under her inspection, he started to fidget nervously. Hermione sighed, and her anger melted away.

"Come on," she said as she headed towards _Tomes and Scrolls. _Inside was quiet and warm, portraits lined the walls and shoppers were milling about the messes of poorly organized books and crates of old texts piled high on the hardwood floors. The Wizarding Wireless Network was softly playing throughout the cozy shop. Hermione headed up the floral carpeted stairs to the second floor with Tom following behind her. Reaching the top of the stairs, Hermione made her way past even more shelves and some desks to the back corner of the balcony where a brick fireplace was lit. Snow melted from their hair as they sat in front of the fire on a lumpy blue couch.

Hermione moved on the couch to face Tom and said, "I'm sorry for getting angry with you. But I did try to come as soon as I could."

_And it took a year? _Tom was highly doubtful. "Where do you go? What exactly is it you are trying to fix?" Tom inquired.

Hermione could only give him a small forced smile.

Tom sighed and asked, "How are you, then?"

Relieved, Hermione answered, "Busy. I don't get a moments rest. How is school?"

"Boring." He said arrogantly. "I have a lot of free time. But I'll be taking more advanced classes next year."

"What do you do during your free period, Tom?" Hermione asked curiously. In another timeline he would be relentlessly researching his lineage and the Chamber of Secrets. Horcruxes.

"Research," He answered smoothly.

Hermione's heart beat quickened. "What kind?" she asked, hoping her voice did not shake too much.

"Whatever interests me," was his vague answer.

"I see," she said quietly.

Seeing her change in mood he quickly changed the subject. "It's almost my birthday."

"Yes I know. Will you be staying at Hogwarts during holiday, then?"

"Yes," he confirmed, making a mental note to inform his father.

"Then I'll come visit you." Hermione wondering if she could pull it off.

"That would be fine," Tom said indifferently. But his heart was beating quickly too.

Hermione stood on the dimly lit street of Hogsmeade. It had stopped snowing but the ground was covered in a foot of snow. Tom had left to ride the last thestral drawn carriage back to the castle over an hour ago, so Hermione had fallen asleep on that blue couch in front of the fire until the shops matron, a bumbling old lady, had woken her to inform her that the store was closing. So now she stood outside in the empty streets feeling solemn and alone.

She walked towards a small alley and her cold hands pulled out her time turner. Carefully she turned the dial that would spin the second smallest ring. As the time turner began to spin, she wished desperately that she would end up not too far away from New Year's Eve.


	11. Tom's Birthday

Tom woke up feeling strangely content. He had woken up in his bedroom in Riddle manor, and had eaten a celebratory breakfast courtesy of Mrs. Brice, with his family. Then, at 3 o'clock sharp, he had said his brief farewells to his father and grandparents, before flooing to Professor Slughorn's Office.

Tom stepped out of the concrete fireplace and entered Slughorn's Office. The office held several comfortable armchairs, a large polished desk littered with parchments and bobbles, a cabinet that displayed students of professor Slughorn's who had fared successfully, and a large wooden table that usually was host to dinner parties.

Professor Slughorn, wearing a maroon velvet jacket over silk lilac pajamas, rose from his desk to meet his finest student.

"Tom my boy, prompt as ever. And today's your birthday is it? How old would you be now?" He asked jovially.

"Fourteen, sir,"

"Ah, yes, yes, of course! Your holiday was good, I expect?"

"Yes, thank you sir, and also thank you for allowing me to use your floo. I know most students don't travel back and forth from school and home during holidays.

"Not a problem, my boy! But you must need to unpack now," Professor Slughorn acknowledged, gesturing towards Tom's trunk, "I'll let you on your way now."

"Sir," Tom nodded towards his professor before leaving the strawberry blonde man.

Tom entered the empty third year's slytherin dorm and made his way to his bed. Leaving his trunk beside his bed, he flopped onto his bed, lying on his back. He sighed and rolled off his bed, opening his trunk and placing his things away.

. . .

January 1, 1941

Hermione felt as though she were flying backwards very fast, her ears were pounding- and then she felt solid land beneath her feet. She landed in a pile of snow in an alley way, and lay for a while, catching her breath. Getting up slowly, she summoned a warm cloak from her beaded bag.

She was late. Grasping her time turner again, she spun the dial for the smallest ring backwards three times.


	12. By The Black Lake

_March 9, 1941_

A cool breeze swept over Tom's face and the green grass surrounding him swayed softly in the wind. Sitting on his school robes, Tom leaned his back against a willow's trunk, legs crossed, as he faced the rippling waves of the great lake. Closer to the shore, first years from different houses laughed as they played, attempting to get the giant squid to break through the water's glinting surface. Piles of books surrounded Tom as he neatly scrawled his essay for professor Binns. _Great Goblin Rebellions of the 17th century._

Tom put down his essay as he felt someone sit down beside him. Hermione sat, legs drawn to her chest as she picked at the grass beneath her.

"Hello, Jean," said Tom calmly. He had had the strangest feeling all day. Like something special would happen to him today.

"Tom."

"Where have you been for three months?" he asked curiously, though he knew she wouldn't answer this question. She never did.

"How is school, Tom?" she asked as she stared straight ahead at the lake.

"I have lots of homework I need to get done. I have to read three chapters for Care of Magical Creatures, Binns wants fourteen inches on the goblin rebellions, and I need to right a report on animagi for transfiguration," he said.

"Transfiguration for Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, do you know him?" Tom asked slightly distastefully.

"I know of him, yes. He's very wise, isn't he?"

"He's the one who told me I was a wizard."

"I know."

"How?" he asked curiously.

"What do you think of him?" Hermione asked Tom, brushing aside his question.

Tom sighed. _Why don't you ever answer my questions? _"He is- He's very powerful. He is very knowledgeable and has made many discoveries.

"But?"

Tom shifted. "He suspects me. He doesn't trust me."

"Ah," was all Hermione could say. So Tom had done something that warranted suspicion from Dumbledore. This was not good. _I should be doing something more,_ she thought frustrated.

"Jean? Are you listening? You never-" He faltered at her expression.

"Tom, I wish you would try to fix things between you and your family. I know they are quite upset that you treat them so coldly."

Tom wanted to shake her. Tell her what his father had done to his mother.

"_They are my parents Tom, please understand that they were my only now I have you, so even if when I bring you to them and they do not approve of you, I will standby you," _his father had said_._

'_My mother and father were family, but he still left her,' _Tom thought angrily.

"Jean," he started stiffly, "My father couldn't accept my mother. Why should he accept me? Why should I let him? My mother was an heir of Slytherin! Did you know that?" he asked furiously.

He had discovered his lineage_._This worried her immensely. Hermione had known it would doubtlessly happen. In the original timeline, after Tom had discovered his heritage, he would go onto to discover the Chamber of Secrets.

"So what?" she asked bluntly, her voice raising. Merlin, he was infuriating!

"How -you knew?" he asked, brows furrowed. Tom had spent a good deal of his time this year researching his wizarding heritage. He had felt a cold current rush through veins like fire when he discovered that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was an heir of Slytherin. He hadn't told anyone one of his discovery. So how _did_ she know?

"The Gaunts are the only living descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Anyone who would care to bother to find out about his descendants could easily look this up," she said defensively.

"But why would you care to research into my family history?" he questioned.

"That- That's not the point Riddle! So what if you are a descendant of Slytherin? That doesn't change anything," she interjected. _It doesn't make you special._

Tom glared at Hermione. "They're muggles, Jean. They are inferior to us. My father wasn't worthy of my mother. And he still left my witch mother because his muggle parents told him to," he said, voice steely.

It dawned on Hermione, only then, that maybe Tom Riddle Sr. had not told Tom the whole truth about why he had left Merope. Inhaling sharply she leaned back into trunk of the tree and watched Tom who was looking quite murderous. She didn't like it.

Hermione began to seriously analyze the situation in her head. Tom's father obviously hadn't told him why he had left Merope. Consequently, Tom now believed his father to be the nefarious character. _So then all I have to do is explain to Tom that his father had been under the influence of a love potion, _Hermione concluded. _But in the original timeline, Tom will visit his mother's home during the summer before his sixth year._

Hermione looked over at Tom who was still looking slightly pissed. Hermione decided that it would be good to discover the reason for his father's actions on his own. Only then, could Tom be able to forgive his father for leaving his mother. _But that won't happen for another couple years, _Hermione thought frustratedly.

She closed her eyes tightly and exhaled a long, shaky breath, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "Alright, Tom," she said in defeat. "If that's how you really feel then I won't ask you about it anymore." Hermione knew that she would not be able to change Tom's mind with just her words. He would have to learn on his own.

Tom was still angry, but he decided to let it go. After all, Jean did not visit often. He grudgingly laid back down against the tree to rest next to her. He wandlessly summoned his parchment and quill back into his quill and glanced over at Jean to see if she had noticed. If she thought that a third year able to perform wandless magic was impressive, she certainly didn't voice it. _Or maybe she doesn't care,_ Tom thought annoyed. Slightly miffed, he went back to finishing his essay.

_The Goblin Rebellion of 1612 was the first of a series of rebellions which took place in the vicinity of Hogsmeade Village..._

_. . ._

Some time had passed and they sat by each other in a comfortable silence. Tom froze his writing when when he felt a weight on his shoulder. Disturbing him further, locks of curly brown covered his parchment. He carefully turned his head to look down at Jean. He took in dark circles under her eyes. Pale skin and chapped lips. The hollows of her cheek were far too deep. His brows furrowed.

Closing his eyes he leaned more comfortably against her. He didn't dare to think about what he was doing. He just took in the faint floral scent of her air and the warm breeze fanning his face before falling asleep.

Tom felt someone shaking him from in his sleep. Slowly opening his eyes he was confused as to why he would have been sleeping outside. Looking around, the sky had darkened to a red hue and only a couple students were left down by the lake, wadding their feet in the water's glinting surface. The air was warm and he stared calmly ahead, as if indifferent, when he realized that Jean had left him alone again.

_Where's Jean?_ he thought groggily, bringing up his curled fist to rub his eyes. He stopped halfway when he realized their was a letter in his hand. Now he really shook himself awake. Carefully unfolding his parchment he slowly read the letter.

_Tom,_

_I'll be gone for ag while. I can't be sure of when I'll visit you again._

_Jean_

Tom stood slowly and lifted his robe that he had been sleeping on, throwing it over his shoulder. Grabbing his school bag, he levitated his books and parchment into it. He ran his fingers through his wavy locks and trudged over the grassy green hills back toward the castle.

_Jean's absence can't be helped I suppose, _he thought as he made his way straight to the Great Hall for dinner. Meanwhile, as he waited for Hermione to return, he had lots of research to do to fill his time.


	13. Farewells

_March 9, 1941_

Hermione landed in a heap behind The Hanged Man's deserted back alley way. She winced as sharp rocks scraped her skin, but she forced herself up. She could hardly see anything, save for the trash bins beside her, pressed up against the wall of the alley.

Stowing her wand away and sweeping back a lock of her disheveled hair away from her eyes, she spun on the spot, disappearing into the dark night with a sharp _Crack! _

. . .

Entering The Leaky Cauldron, Hermione made her way to Tom the barman. The bar was not empty as she had expected it to be at this late hour. In fact, the bar's occupants were still buzzing on their late night drinks, a dim yellow glow casting shadows on their faces by light off the cob webbed chandelier hanging above them.

She payed for her room and then headed up the stairway. She slipped the key into her robe pocket and then entered her room. Flicking her wrist, she clasped her wand with a small gesture, the small room flooded with light from the lamp on the bedside table.

She made her way into the small bathroom connecting to her room. Stepping onto cool tiled floors, she quickly began to strip down and set the taps to fill her bath. From her beaded bag she summoned her chest of healing supplies and a change of clothes.

Standing bare in front of the mirror, she removed her bandages, assessing her wounds before shrugging and slipping into her bath, emitting a small sigh as the hot water turned her aching muscles to jelly. She gave herself a good scrub. Hermione was still getting used to the whole long distance time travel business. This was so much more exhausting, compared to her time traveling escapades third year. And an exhausted Hermione would be useless.

For Merlin's sake, she had not intended to fall asleep next to Tom! That really was a testament to how tired she was. Waking up to find herself leaning against the future Dark Lord- Hermione shuddered. And the fact that Tom had been asleep too was... strange. It was out of character for him. Wasn't it? _Maybe, I really could be affecting..._ Hermione allowed the idea to churn in her brain. Hermione had come to the past to fix the mistakes of a person. She did not think it would be possible to fix _him_.

Well regardless, it certainly hadn't been pleasant. Waking up to see his face had given her a right scare. How could she let him catch her off guard like that? Hermione winced as she pulled on her knotted hair a bit too tightly. She was angry at herself. " _Tom Riddle, _she thought bitterly, _will never find me vulnerable like that again! Why should I be mad at myself? _the thought snappily, as she roughly tugged her hair, _He's the crazy psychopath! _ _I removed him from the orphanage. I gave him a family and a home. Yet, he still opens the Chamber and holds pureblood ideals! _What more could she do? What had Dumbledore been expecting his traveler to do to 'fix' this mistake? Hermione couldn't help but feel that this whole mission was hopeless.

Sighing, she stepped out of the bath and let swirl down the drain. She wrapped a towel around her hair and once again, stood before the mirror to inspect her wounds. Opening her chest of healing supplies, she retrieved salve and gauze to apply to the wound on her back. It was a bit tricky with no one to help her, but she was able to manage, though it took considerably longer to dress the wound then it should have. The cut was healing nicely, to her satisfaction.

She shrugged on a soft white tee and left the mess of a bathroom and made straight for the bed, letting the towel around her hair fall to the carpeted floor as she plowed on. She pulled the covers closer around her neck feeling so... alone. She thought of her parents and her two best friends.

_Oh Merlin, they haven't even been born yet. _The thought made her eyes water. But she wouldn't cry. It would be too hard to stop once she started. So she widened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling, willing herself to think of other less depressing thoughts. With a slight wave of her hand, the light went out.

Tomorrow, she would go to see Tom. She hoped desperately that her visits would maybe, possibly, even if just slightly, have an effect on Tom. Closing her eyes finally, she hoped that the morning wouldn't come all too soon.

. . .

September 5, 1942

Tom Riddle Sr. and Tom Riddle sat in silence in the shiny black car Tom Sr. was driving through London as they approached King's Cross Station. Mr. Riddle, flawlessly dressed, glanced into his rear view mirror at his son who sat perfectly beside him, hair perfectly coiffed with locks falling neatly on his forehead. _My god, children really do grow quickly..._

Turning back to look at the crowded road ahead of him, Tom Sr. coughed abashed, then asked, "Son, has something been on your mind lately? You've seemed bothered lately." His eyes quickly glanced to the ring that rest on his son's left hand. He had wondered where his son had gotten it, and since the first day he had seen Tom where it, there had been a slight difference in the way his son carried himself.

Tom did not catch his father's stolen glance, and continued staring straight out his window, then said, his voice smooth, "No, everything is fine." That was a lie. Tom had many things he wanted to ask his father ever since his visit to his mother's home. But knowing his father, Tom was better off not asking any of his questions at all, considering that anytime Merope was mentioned,which was quite rarely, his father would close up immediately, turning white as a ghost, Tom scoffed at the image, and would insist, stuttering, that the topic be changed.

Tom wanted to believe very much that his father had at least some sort of decent reason for leaving his mother. _And not because he thought Merope was inferior to himself._ Then, Tom thought, he would be at least... satisfied with his father. Tom knew that his resentment towards his father was maybe uncalled for, but he had the facts to consider. His father was a muggle, his mother was a witch. Not only was she a witch, she was a descendent of the noble Salazar Slytherin. His father leaving his mother because he thought her inferior would be unacceptable.

Yes, his father was a muggle, but in Tom's mind, he had proven himself worthy. His father was rich, good looking, intelligent, loyal to Tom, and his mother had obviously approved of the man. That was good enough for Tom.

Tom sr. sighed and they fell back into silence until they reached King's Cross.

Tom Sr. pulled over to the curb of the road in front of the station's entrance, where outside, throngs of people rushed in and out of the doors. It had been quickly decided from Tom's very first year, that Tom would enter through the barrier alone. It was best for both parties. As a result, they traditionally parted outside of the station's entrance. Both Riddle's exited the car and and stood by the side of the car, away from the busy street.

"Well, have a good year, son, Try to write often will you? Father enjoys your letters," Tom said to his son, who was leaning against the car, arms crossed cooly. Tom looked up at his father and straightened up, nodding in response.

"My son, best in his class and prefect too," Tom's Father spoke, patting his son's shoulder, before heading around to the back of the car and retrieving Tom's trunk.

Tom watched as his father fetched his trunk for him as he did like every year before. He took his luggage from his father's grasp.

"Thank you. I'll see you Christmas break," he said shortly. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the throng of noisy muggles, into the great stone station.


	14. OWLs

The castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight as though freshly painted; the cloudless sky smiled at itself in the smoothly sparkling lake; the satin green lawns rippled occasionally in a gentle breeze. June had arrived, but to the fifth-years this meant only one thing: their OWLs were upon them at last.

While other students were feverishly revising topics they thought would most likely come up in the exams, Tom had been studying something entirely different.

"Tom," Rosier interrupted, "Why did the warlocks of Liechtenstein refuse to join the International Confederation of Wizards?"

Tom looked up from his book, "During the formation of the confederation, Liechtenstein was involved in difficulties with a tribe of particularly vicious tribe of particularly vicious mountain trolls. The first Supreme Mugwump Pierre Banoccord had plans to stop troll-hunting and give the trolls rights. Naturally the warlocks of Liechtenstein contested. A History of Magic. Page 394," he finished.

"Why aren't you writing this all down?"

"It's all up here now," Rosier said tapping a finger to his head. "Thanks, Tom."

Tom rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

"The History of Magic portion is next Thursday. How is it that don't know this by now?" asked Nott. Tom had been wondering the same thing.

A chair was pulled up to their table in the library and they were joined by Abraxas.

"Of course, it's not what you know,"Abraxas said as he lounged on his chair, after slinging his satchel across the back of it.

"What are you going on about now, Malfoy ?" Nott asked annoyed.

"It's who you know," he said loudly. Father's been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years- Griselda Marchbanks- we've had her round for dinner and everything…" He lifted his eyebrows, eager for their response.

Then Mulciber snorted and went back to his book. Tom, with much difficulty restrained from rolling his eyes.

"Forever spewing nonsense, aren't you, Malfoy?" Nott sneered unamused.

Abraxes shrugged. "It certainly won't hurt my chances though, will it?

. . .

Thursday, June 10, 1943

"Well, it wasn't too bad, was it?" asked Abraxes in the Entrance Hall two hours later, crumpling up his exam paper.

None of the fifth-years talked very during lunch. Walburga was practising incantations under her breath while the salt cellar in front of her twitched; Nott was rereading Achievements in Charming so fast that his eyes appeared blurred; and Yaxley kept dropping his knife and fork and knocking over the biscuits.

After lunch, they trooped off into the small chamber beside the Great Hall, where they waited until called for their practical examination. As small groups of students were called forwards in alphabetical order, those left behind muttered incantations and practiced wand movements, occasionally poking each other in the back or eye by mistake.

Tom's name was called.

"Professor Tofty is free, Tom m'boy. I do suspect there would be no use in trivial pleasantries as wishing you good look, but there you have it anyways," Professor Slughorn told him, as he entered the Great Halls. He pointed Tom towards an examiner sitting behind a small table in a far corner."

"Riddle, is it?" said Professor Tofty, consulting his notes and peering over his pince-nez at Tom as he approached.

"Yes, sir."

"Hogwart's brightest and best, or so I've heard."

He had no problem with any of the written questions and had done flawlessly during the practical examination, performing all the counter-jinxes and defensive spells.

"Oh, bravo!" cried Professor Tolty when Tom demonstrated a perfect Boggart banishing spell.

"Excellent! Very well, Mr. Riddle, you may go!"

. . .

"How were the Runes, Tom?" asked Abraxes, yawning and stretching as Tom finally entered the room..

He had very nearly come close to mis-translated ehwaz witheihwaz.

"Actually, don't answer that," Abraxes sighed as he fell to his bed.

Tom locked the door.

"Another student was found tonight," he announced as he made his way to his desk and loosened his tie.

That got their attention. They straightened up quickly, the four of them gathering nearer Tom.

"Tell me it was another mudblood," Mulciber said, a gleam in his eyes as he took a swig from his fire whiskey.

Tom nodded.

"Excellent," Rosier crooned.

"And when they were found, were they…?" Abraxes asked.

"Petrified. The boy is in the infirmary with the others now," Tom answered.

"Only petrified? Again?" Mulciber muttered under his breath.

"An attack during O.W.L.s? The professors must have been ecstatic," Rosier drawled sarcastically.

"There will be an announcement tomorrow at breakfast, but exams will continue as scheduled."

"I think… that students may be starting to suspect that the attacker isn't… all human," Nott told them slowly.

"How did you come by this?" Tom demanded sharply.

"I went to the library, all the copies of Hogwart's, A History have been taken out," he told them, "there's a two-week waiting list. Everyone wants it for the same reason, to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" asked Rosier quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Nott, biting his lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else -"

"Salazar's hidden chamber. A horror within the chamber awaits to purge the school of all who are unworthy to study magic," Abraxes interrupted.

"What exactly do you mean by the `horror within' the chamber?" Mulciber asked.

"That would be our attacker, some sort of monster," Abraxes answered.

"A monster? Hogwarts must have been searched for evidence of such a chamber many times. If a long succession of learned witches and wizards haven't found anything, there can't be a claim to it," Nott insisted, "There must be something else we're not seeing."

Tom stayed silent, not confirming any of their theories. If the school believed some sort of monster was behind the attacks, that did not affect his plans. However, if the professors believed the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, they would know that it was more than just a monster behind the attacks…

"An heir alone is able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets and unleash the horror within." Tom said quietly.

They all looked up.

"An heir, Salazar's heir?" Abraxas wondered. "There is none, not since the Gaunts. And you don't want to know what became of them."

Tom froze. "What do you know of the Gaunts?"

"What. Do you know. Of the Gaunts?" Tom repeated.

"The House of Gaunt was the last line with ties to Salazar. They were once a prominent, wealthy family in the wizarding world. Marvolo Gaunt was the last descendant. He was mentally unstable, squandered his family's fortune and cost it much of its prestige among the pure-blood circles.

He disappeared after that. None of the sacred twenty eight families know what became of him after that." Abraxes finished.

"That's it then," Rosier cut in, "No heir, No chamber. So who's our guy?"

Tom looked around at his friends. For the briefest of seconds, he considered telling them. That he was the heir of Slytherin. That it was a basilisk attacking the mudbloods and that it was he who had released it.

But then the moment passed.

Later. He would tell them later, on some other day. They didn't need to know, not yet. He would keep his secret for now.

"I have a feeling we will be finding out soon. Call it… intuition."

. . .

Tom lay in his bed, the curtains drawn around him. But it didn't block out the hissing coming from inside the walls.

_"Kill this time ... let me rip ... tear. . ."_


	15. The Basilisk

Brown eyes quickly skimmed the cover of the Daily Prophet bought from a news stand off the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.

_June 15, 1943_

Hermione grasped the freshly printed newspaper in her hands tightly and continued to read the cover story as shoppers rushed around her.

From what she could gather, a Hogwarts student had died last night, killed by an unidentifiable monster. The funeral procession would be held today.

_Tom has opened the chamber then. It has to be Myrtle, _Hermione was sure. But whether or not it was indirect she was not so certain. Either way, she had to go back and stop Tom from killing, from splitting his soul. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry really knew if Tom had meant to kill Myrtle, they had had no existing memory of the event.

Hermione needed to find out.

Hermione hastily folded the paper and placed it in her beaded bag before swiftly walking towards an empty alley behind one of the shop's. Making sure no one could see her, she untucked her time turner from her black sweater and disappeared one day into the past.

…

June 13, 1943

Moonlight streamed through the stained glass windows into the dim corridors. Firelight flickered on torches lining the cold stone walls. Tom Riddle swiftly made his way to the girl's bathroom on the second floor. His uniform was crisp and pristine, the faint light of the torches that lined the walls of the corridors reflected against the silver badge on his chest. He had spent the majority of his time during his fourth and fifth year researching the Chamber of Secrets and trying to discover where it was hidden. This year, he had actually been able to search the school for the entrance of the chamber during the times when he made his prefect rounds and the school was virtually empty.

His prefect status had been dead helpful and he had smirked when his prefect's badge had arrived by owl post over the summer with his school supplies letter. Of course he would have been made prefect. He was, after all, a model student, top of his year, and committed to being a first rate wizard.

He had discovered the chamber only a few days ago and _his _basilisk had only managed to petrify a few mudbloods. So, he was going back once more to carry out Salazar's noble work. _Purge the school of all those who are unworthy to study magic._

He met no interruptions on his way to the bathroom and there was still an hour left until curfew. Passing through stone archway leading into the girl's bathroom, his heartbeat quickened.

"Humenum revelio," he whispered

But the room was empty. He lit the end of his wand and ventured more deeply into the large bathroom. Tom passed a row of wooden stall doors and stopped in front of the pale stone sinks that formed a circle. He quickly made his way around it and stopped when he came upon the copper faucet with a tiny snake engraved onto it's handle. He leaned over the sink and ran the tips of his fingers onto to cool metal. Inhaling sharply, he looked up abruptly at his reflection in the large mirror before him. He briefly caught a glance of waving brown hair, pale skin, and sweet gray eyes that were wide, before he straightened his robes and drew his wand from his pocket.

_One more time,_ he thought as he inhaled deeply.

_Open, _he hissed confidently in parseltongue. The tap began to glow slightly and the sink shifted exposing an entrance leading down a large pipe. Tom stepped stepped towards the very edge of the entrance, his black leather shoes just touching the gaping hole in the ground. His eyes flickered quickly down the bottomless pit, his face expressionless. Then slowly, he raised one foot forward -then he was falling. Air whipped through his hair and his school robes flew around him. All he could see was smooth stone pipes covered in grime. Glancing downwards, he saw the bottom of the pipe coming nearer and nearer, so he braced himself for the landing that was coming all too suddenly.

He landed in a crouch with his hands on either side of him. His ankle's almost gave in, but he quickly stood and took in his surroundings. When he had first entered the chamber, he had seen hundreds of littered bones on the floors. His nose had crinkled slightly before he swiftly vanished the animal remains.

Now Tom looked up above at the ceiling through the hole the had entered from and saw a faint light seeping in from the girl's bathroom. He would have to be quick again.

. . .

Hermione had disillusioned her self upon entering the castle through the hump backed witch's statue and now stalked down the flights of stair towards the girls bathroom on the second floor. She passed colorful moving portraits and made her way by the faint glow of a giant chandelier way above the staircases. She passed only a few students still in their school robes straggling to their common rooms from late night study sessions in the library.

Hermione quickened her pace once she reached the second floor, making familiar turns around the dark halls. This was all too surreal to her. And their wasn't much time left. She entered the girl's bathroom and almost paused when she took in the familiar yet unfamiliar room. The stalls were perfectly functioning and nowhere close to looking rundown. The mirrors were clear and free of spots. The room was clearly used and maintained frequently in this time. She ventured further into the room and she felt as though her heart stopped beating when she saw the entrance to the chamber open. She closed her eyes tightly and struggled to clear her mind. But her head ached and she could feel a throbbing pressure behind her eyes.

_What is he thinking?_ _Why is he doing this to me? _her mind was screaming, but she had work to do. She opened her eyes and blinked away the moisture. _Calm, Hermione. This won't do,_ she thought as she struggled to gain control.

Hermione froze when she heard sniffling. _Myrtle!_ She had to get her out of here. Hermione didn't know how much time she had left, and she had no plans. It's very fortunate that she was quite talented when it came to winging things. Saving Harry and Ron from getting into trouble when they had saved her from the troll with her impeccable acting. Saving Harry from Umbridge's cruciatus in their fifth year when she had concocted the story of Dumbledore's 'secret weapon'.

She removed her disillusionment spell and made her way to the wooden stalls. Flicking her wrist, her wand landed neatly in her hand and she waved her wand causing all of the doors to swing open. She hear a watery gasp and made her way towards it. Inside the second stall to her right, she found a very much alive Myrtle. The young Ravenclaw wore round glasses, and had straight brown hair in pigtails and a rather large fringe. Her expression was shocked at first and tear glistened in her wide brown eyes and ran down her cheeks before her expression turned suspicious and quickly stood, gathering herself.

"Come to make fun of poor, miserable, Myrtle?" she spat in her high nasally voice.

Hermione stared at the fourth year who stood five feet tall. The girl didn't bother to hide her tears, which under any other circumstance, Hermione would have applauded her for.

"It's after curfew, you will have to go back to your dormitory, now," Hermione said her voice shaky as she grabbed the younger girl's hand and lead her towards the door.

"Why are you out after hours then?" she asked smartly, "I've haven't ever seen you at Hogwart's before, you're not a prefect." Myrtle said as she tried in vain to pull her hand out of Hermione's grip.

They stood near the doorway now just in front of the corridor when Myrtle was finally able to wrench her wrist free.

"Listen, Myr-, ah, Don't you know that muggleborns are being targeted? Haven't you heard of the attacks?" Hermione demanded desperate to make the girl leave.

"Go to your dormitory, now! Before you're found and reported." Hermione urged her.

The girl looked about to argue further and her eyes started to water before she turned abruptly and hastily walked away on wobbly legs.

Hermione felt an awful stab of guilt as she watched the other girl go, but she quickly pushed the feeling away. It was for the best. Thinking quickly, Hermione began to cast a repelling charm on the entrance of the bathroom in case Myrtle or anyone else would try to make an appearance there again tonight. Things were starting to go right. With Myrtle gone, Tom would not be responsible for any killings tonight and he would be unable to create his diary horcrux using Myrtle's death.

Her heartbeat sounded so loudly in her head that she didn't hear the hissings and slithering noises coming from the pipes.

. . .

Tom entered the girls bathroom with his basilisk right behind him. He stepped to the side allowing his birthright to exit the pipes. A mass of green scales emerged from chamber's entrance. He knew his pet was hungry and adrenaline rushed through him as he felt the power his pet was exuding. He heard a stifled gasp and smirked. The girl would be taken care of, he would not have to worry about her spreading his secret. _Pity you decided to wander the school after hours on this night,_ he thought cruelly.

He brought his attention to the girl his basilisk was about to indulge in. He frowned slightly when he saw the girl's back was facing rigidly away from his basilisks face. He had hoped the mudblood would die looking into the yellow eyes of the basilisk that only he himself would ever be able to see and live to tell the tale. But something about the girl was strangely familiar.

His eyes widened as he saw his basilisk pose to strike.

"_Stop!" _Tom hissed, his mask broken, his voice for a split second, scared.

The basilisk froze, it's mouth wide open revealing sharp as daggers teeth two feet long. It breathed out harshly, hissing at its master and lifting Hermione's hair. As Tom continued to hiss at it, the basilisk slowly retreated, before turning fully and slithering quickly back down the into Chamber of Secrets. Tom had stopped hissing and the stone sinks slowly shifting back into place.

Hermione stood, still facing the entrance, breathing hard. She was shaking slightly and her eyes were wide, unblinking. The bathroom was all too quiet now. She heard uneven footsteps approach her. Slow at first, then suddenly they were coming much too quickly. Her head jerked to her side and she saw a very ruffled looking Tom coming towards her. But she couldn't take him, not right now. For- for Merlin's sake, she had -had been this close to being eaten alive!

So she did what her mind screamed at her to do since the very first time she laid her eyes on the scary Dark Lord during the Battle of Hogwarts. She ran. She didn't look back.

Her breath came quickly as she sprinted down stone corridors and marble stairs. She wasn't worried about being seen by wandering students. The only thing going through her mind was,_run. Run, and get the hell out of here._ She ran out into the courtyard, soft grass beneath her feet, as the cool night air embraced her. She only stopped when she neared the Great Lake, leaning with her arms supporting her against the rough bark of a tree.

Hermione gasped as she tried to slow her erratic heart beats. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and collar bones as she shook.

Why did Tom cause these awful things? Why did he want them to happen?

Closing her eyes tightly, she inhaled a deep breath then exhaled slowly. She straightened herself up and opened her eyes to the peaceful view of the moon reflected on the lake's rippling surface. She looked back towards the castle before her hands reached inside cloak and pulled out her time turner.

She knew she would have to face a confrontation with Tom. He would have some questions to ask her and would doubtlessly be expecting her to have some questions of her own to ask him. But she already knew all the answers to those more obvious questions and had nothing to ask him. Except, maybe, _why._

Should she stay, go back to the castle and find him now? She didn't think she could handle it right now. He probably wouldn't be ready to talk now either. she reached with one had to turn the dial then stopped. It was July, if she went a month forward, students would be on summer holidays and the school would be empty. Tucking her necklace back into her sweater, she started off towards the trail from Hogwarts that would end in Hogsmeade. She would be able to apparate undetected there.

Hermione hiked through the thick trail in the dark confidently. She had been living in the woods while on the run after all. The only sounds she made were her faint foot falls as she neared the gate that lead into Hogsmeade. Pulling out her wand, She lightly tapped the iron wrought fence causing the double doors to open for her, before she recast the more advanced locking spell. Finally outside of Hogwarts grounds, she pulled her soft cloak around her tighter before apparating away.

. . .


	16. Framing Rubeus

June 18, 1943

_Oh for the love of- _Tom had to forcibly restrain the eyeroll coming on. After all, he had a reputation to keep, and Tom Riddle never lost his composure. At least not where anyone could see him. Not that the oaf would be quick enough, _or bright enough, _he inwardly sneered, to realize Tom's insincerity. Riddle stepped closer to stuttering half-breed.

"It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacker isn't found."

"What d'yeh-"

"I don't think you meant it to attack anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and-"

"It never attacked no one!" said the large boy, backing against the corridor wall. Tom could hear a funny rustling and clicking coming from behind the boy.

"Come on, Rubeus," said Tom, moving closer yet towards toward the boy's towering form. "Parents were very worried about bringing their children back to Hogwarts this year. As the monster hasn't been caught -_yet,_ the school board is considering closing down the school."

"It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage.

Behind Rubeus, Tom could see the form of a girl peeking her head from around the corner. Just as Tom had planned, the other patrolling prefect had arrived to witness the scene. He put on the face of a frightened, defenceless victim, and allowed the oaf to continue his flailing and shouting, useless attempts to prove his 'pet' innocent.

Tom watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open, before she scuttled back the way she came.

"He would'n! He never!"

"Stand aside," said Riddle authoritively, drawing out his wand. Tom watched Rubeus stiffen at the sight of the pale yew. Of course, he would be no match for Tom Riddle. Tom would have laughed if the fact wasn't so pitiful. Rubeus tightened his grip on the box he held behind his back and slowly retreated even further into the dark corner.

Hagrid gulped nervously, something in Tom's expression seemed... off.

Tom did look quite a sight in his crisp uniform, his prefect badge glinting from the hall's flickering candle light. Shadows crossed his face, defining its sharp angles and contours.

_Yes, _Rubeus decided, Tom's face was definitely off, he thought to himself. Much different, _scarier,_than the polite prefect he was used to seeing. The one who smiled at teachers and laughed with his Slytherin friends, who helped first years find their new classes and treated students of all four houses equally.

He had to get Arogog out of the castle, and quick, though he loathed to think of parting with the gorgeous creature. _Arogog never hurt no one! _That, he knew for sure. Surely Tom would understand? But that look in Tom's eyes...

Hagrid was both horrified and relieved to hear footsteps quickly heading towards him and Tom. He looked down the hall towards the source of the noise then back at Tom. His black beetle eyes widened when he saw Tom's turn hard.

Tom had heard the foot fall too. Was expecting it, in fact. All apart of his plan to keep the school open of course, and he relished in the fact that everything was falling into place.

He tightened his grip on his wand and stood taller. his spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The box fell to the floor and Rubeus was knocked into the opposite wall.

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers. If It had been anyone but Tom, the lesser being might have cringed and screamed their throat hoarse, all while sprinting off in the opposite direction. The only change in Tom however, was the whitening of his knuckles gripping his wand and the defensive stance he took. And as if on cue, Headmaster Dippet, along with Myrtle arrived on the scene to witness the hideous monster. Myrtle's screech went unnoticed by Tom and he raised his wand again, but he was too late.

The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing down the corridor. _Damn Acromantula! _Tom cursed, disgusted and angry. Tom scrambled to his feet, looking after it he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him and threw him down, yelling "Nooooo!"

This time, Tom really did roll his eyes, as no one would see it, what with the wall of a boy blocking any spectators view of his face. He winced as his cheek connected with the base of the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. _That's going to leave a mark,_ he thought idly. He used his wand to detach Rubeus from him, none too gently mind.

On his feet, Tom followed in pursuit of Headmaster Dippet who was chasing after the beast of a spider. He ignored Rubeus' wails as he too followed the prefect and Headmaster alongside Myrtle.

Tom easily maneuvered through the dimly lit halls and in a couple more strides, he was caught up with the Headmaster. Tom inwardly marveled at the speed at which his old Headmaster could run. The spider didn't get very far, it scuttled into the girls bathroom. Tom neatly avoided running and colliding into his Dippet who had stopped abruptly a couple steps past the archway into the bathroom. Slightly annoyed at the old man's antics,Tom stepped beside him and narrowed his eyes as he listened carefully for the spider who had disappeared from sight. His heart rate sped up as his eyes passed over the sinks. He would give anything to open the chamber and enter the great lair that his ancestor had left for him. Tom peeled his eyes away and they landed briefly on his headmaster, before flickering back to the entrance where Rubeus and Myrtle appeared, both red faced.

"Aragog!" Rubeus howled, "Headmaster Dippet, sir, he would'n have attacked those students! He's innocent!"

At the sound of Rubeus' voice, them monster appeared from under one of the wooden stalls. Tom's wand was instantly raised, as was Dippet's, who sternly ignored Hagrid's cries of injustice.

"Arania Exumai!"

A flash of blue erupted from Tom's wand, causing the acromantula to scramble behind the sinks, backing across stone tiles. From Dippet's wand emerged a purple glow, hitting the monster, blasting it into the wall. But this was not enough to deter it, it scuttled up the window sills, and lifted its legs, pushing forcefully into the window. It shattered the stained glass and jumped through, to Rubeus' relief. All four ran to the broken window and watched as a dark mass scrambled across rolling field of grass towards the Forbidden Forest, disappearing into its dark shadows.

The night's cool wind gently ruffled Tom's hair as he slowly turned towards the headmaster, who looking gravely at the fifth year Gryffindor whose smile of joy abruptly foze, fear creeping up on the boy and clouding his eyes. Tom's eyes flickered to the entrance of the girl's bathroom, where stood Professor Dumbledore whose gaze drifted past Myrtle to Rubeus then Dippet and lastly Tom. Tom thought he could see confusion in his expression, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone, a cool and collected calm in his features. Tom stared straight into pools of icy blue.

. . .

June 18, 1943

Hermione entered her room at the Leaky Cauldron where she had been staying for the week, trying to plan out how she could explain to Tom his parent's complicated relationship. She was essentially avoiding Tom until she could prepare what exactly it was she could say to him that would insure that Tom's questions were satiated and not fueled.

She hurriedly locked the door behind her and rushed towards the small wooden desk in the corner of the room. Yanking out the chair, she sat and placed on the worn surface, the latest addition of the daily profit. She carefully unfolded paper.

**Student Responsible for Hogwarts' Attacks Expelled!**

Her breathing came out slow and steady as she held the paper up with her left hand, trailing the words of the article with the pointer finger of her right hand. She read the article. Twice. The article was very vague. No specific names were mentioned. But she knew the prefect mentioned, who was awarded a plaque for services to the school, was Tom. She shrunk it and slipped it into her beaded bag. She rose from the desk and started to pace over the small shag rug with her arms crossed against her and began to mutter to herself.

This was complicated. Should she go back and save Hagrid from expulsion? Could she? What would be the consequences of Hagrid staying in school? Exactly how much would it alter the timeline?

She honestly hadn't thought of it before. But now, thinking it over, she realized that Hagrid might not have become groundskeeper if he had stayed in school. Maybe Albus might not have offered him the job. She tried to imagine a Hogwarts without Hagrid.

"_They haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do,"_ she recalled Hagrid saying proudly of her, his attempt to cheer her up after Draco had called her a mudblood. Her cheeks tinged pink as she remembered his kind praise. She thought back to Hagrid's relationship with Harry as well. That night when the order had gone to collect Harry the summer before what should have been her seventh year at Hogwarts_. "Brought yeh here sixteen years ago when you were barely bigger than a bowtruckle. Seems only righ' I should be the one ter take yeh away."_

No, Hogwarts without Hagrid was definitely out of the question. And Hagrid had loved his job. Sighing, she quit her pacing and walked to the bed, flipping onto her back, interlocking her fingers and resting her hands on her stomach. She exhaled a long breath. Hagrid would be expelled and that was that. And now, she really should get to planning how she would explain to Tom. She did have an idea in mind. She had Dumbledore's pensieve. She had the memory of Bob Odgen. But surely that memory alone wouldn't be enough to satisfy Tom. Hermione rolled over to her side and abruptly stood, heading for the door and locked it behind her. Her boots padded soundlessly across carpeted floors then down the rickety stairs to the Leaky Cauldron's ground floor. Hermione had a visit to pay to Riddle Manor.


	17. Sealing The Chamber (For Now)

_July 22, 1943_

Hermione stood in front of the oak front door of Riddle Manor. As she stood on the porch, a frown crossed her face. _They really just leave the front door open like this?_ she wondered. She would have scoffed if the issue wasn't so concerning. The past really was quite strange to her.

She pushed the door open and entered the lavish entrance space. She turned back to the door and closed it firmly. With one hand still on the door's handle, she reached up with her other hand to turn the gold dial that would lock the door. She paused though, and wondered if it was maybe meant to be opened for some one's arrival. What if someone was to return to the manor and be unable to enter because she had locked the door? She let her hands drop to her sides and walked down the polished wood floors of the manor, passing rich colorful paintings, feeling vaguely unsettled.

Perhaps she was still jumpy from the basilisk incident.

She stopped at a carved archway in the hall and peered into the white and blue kitchen, but found it empty. So, she continued on and glancing through the french doors of the dining room, found Mr. Riddle having his routine cuppa and reading a newspaper. She walked through the opened french doors and stood behind him. She gave an awkward cough to announce her presence. Mr. Riddle tore his eyes away from his paper and turned his head to face her. Hermione watched as his eyes widened comically behind thin spectacles, before he began to choke in to his tea that he had been in the process of drinking.

"Er, hello, Mr. Riddle. Sorry to startle you," she said as he spluttered and he grabbed a white linen napkin. On the corners of the napkin was the Riddle's monogram stitched into it. He began to dab hurriedly on this pristine white shirt. He removed his glasses and set them on the table beside his discarded paper and cup, still dabbing away, before he finally gave up sighing.

"Sit, sit," he encouraged as he threw his linen onto the table in defeat. "I just wasn't expecting you, is all," he said kindly.

Hermione sat in the chair across him and pulled out her wand. She didn't notice his slight wince as she scourgified his shirt.

"Thank you," he said with a polite smile.

Hermione nodded in response and helped herself to some tea from a white china pot and some warm, freshly baked scones.

"I'm assume you came to see Tom?" he asked knowingly.

"Oh, yes."

"I will gladly collect him for you. He hasn't had many visitors over the hols," he said as started to stand.

"No!" I'll -I'll see to him myself," she said, cheeks flushing, as he arched his brow at her.

"If you insist," Tom said unconvinced, as he reseated himself.

"How has Tom been, at home?"

"He's still unreachable," Tom Sr. said warily, as he ran his hand through his hair. "He must be angry at me, I'm so sure of it! But I don't know why."

"You didn't tell him the truth about Merope did you? He won't be able to forgive you for leaving his mother."

"I explained to him the circumstances when I brought him up to live with my family." Tom defended himself, confirming her suspicions. "Maybe not every detail, but-"

"He needs to know everything In order to forgive you," Hermione interrupted.

"-he said he understood! Besides, I can't do that to him! What will he think of his mother?" Mr. Riddle demanded insistently. Hermione sank into her chair and rubbed her tired eyes.

. . .

Tom sat as his desk writing his summer assignments. He wore black trousers and his legs crossed at his ankles. He wore a thin grey shirt and brown suede shoes. He sighed annoyed and put his quill down. Grasping one hand over the other, he raised his arms above his head and stretched out in his chair. He rose and combed his hand through his perfectly parted brown waves.

He could hear a muffled argument that carried up through the large, empty halls of the manor. There was obviously a guest. He made his his way across his spacious room and out the hall to see who had visited. And to see if he could get them to quiet down so he could go back to the mundane task of completing his assignments.

He heard the voices becoming louder as he made his way down the floral carpeted oak stairs. He could distinctly hear his father's muffled voice and female company. _Interesting. _He approached the kitchen.

. . .

Hermione sat quietly as Mr. Riddle vented on about not wanting to tell Tom about what Merope had done to himself. Hermione understood his reasoning. Completely. So she did not argue. After, this was the summer that Tom had discovered the truth for himself. She nodded as a clearly frustrated Mr. Riddle continued on when Tom entered the room.

His features were blank as he walked into the the dining room and was met by the sight of Jean and his father sitting together in what looked like a heated debate.

"Tom," Hermione said with a very much forced smile. "I was wondering if we could talk."

"Of course," he said smoothly. He had a good idea, what exactly it was that she wanted to discuss.

And so, this is how Hermione and Tom found themselves in The Hanged Man, the local village pub. They sat at a shabby wooden table at the back of the bar next to a large window, which the sun shone brightly through. Tom held in a sneer at the shabby muggle establishment and it's less than sophisticated occupants. But Jean had chosen this place and so, he had followed.

Hermione watched Tom as he ordered her food for her, nothing for himself. _Not from here, obviously,_she thought bitterly. He was sixteen now and Tom had grown since the last time she had properly seen him. Well over her own 5'7'', his face was more mature too.

Hermione did not like this. She did not like this at all. He was getting too old, too fast. If she kept skipping forward in time this much, she would not have enough _time_ try to change him. She brow furrowed only so slightly and began to chew her lower lip as she scrutinized him.

_Why can't you be like every other human being? And, I don't know, maybe, __not_ _become a murdering Dark lord?_

"Jean? _Jean?" _Tom was, just a little peeved.

Hermione was broke from her pondering and focused her eyes back on Tom who was glaring at her. She looked down and noticed her food had come too.

Tom watched curiously as Hermione dug into her food. He grimaced. Hermione put her fork down and sipped from her glass of water. Her eyes didn't leave Tom, who had his brow furrowed.

"I came to visit you last month," Hermione started, as she placed her half empty glass on the table's rough surface. She was struggling to find words. For her, It had been just hours agoa when- "I came to visit you and... -care to explain?" she asked, her voice even.

Tom leaned forward. Was that _excitement _she saw in his eyes? How disgus-

"-There's this legend," he began.

"Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, I'm quite aware," Hermione cut in coolly.

Tom looked surprised, though only for a moment, before he recollected his blank features.

"A chamber only one of his own bloodline, his true heir, would be able to open the Chamber and release its monster to continue his _noble_," she spat, "work."

Tom became infuriated by her words, and only just managed to keep it contained.

"You do not agree with...me." he said slowly.

"That was very foolish Tom! Opening the bloody-, do you have any idea of the consequences?" she asked quietly, shrilly. "That damn basilisk is a monster, not a toy! You could have killed someone!"

Hermione watched as Tom's feature's changed from uninterested and bored to shameful. His eyes shined with worry before he looked away from her and hung his head.

"Hermione, what have I done? I got so carried away and something just awful happened! I don't know what I would have done if anyone had been seriously hurt!" Tom moaned.

Hermione furrowed her brow and looked deep into his eyes. She wasn't buying this. But oh, how she wished every word he was saying was really true.

Tom, realising he couldn't fool her, dropped the act rather quickly and sneered.

"Tom," Hermione said, trying for a new approach, "Do you realize, that if a student had died, does die," she added in case he had plans to reopen the chamber when he went back to school for his sixth year, "Hogwarts would have been closed down? Do you really believe that the board of governors would allow to student's into a school that can not be deemed safe?

Tom's mind whirled as what Hermione pointed out to him sank in. _Damn,_ she had a point. If he were being honest, the notion that the school would be closed had not even dawned on him while he had schemed. _Hogwarts closed? _he thought, the idea was nauseating to him. _Hogwarts closing is not acceptable._

"Tom, we don't know if anyone would have died," Hermione said. Partial lie. "As long as you don't open the chamber, Hogwarts will be safe and you can continue going to school. "You're not planning on going back to the Chamber, right?" _Merlin, please don't go back,_ she wished desperately. Tom was already shaping up to be the next dark lord. Sooner than she could ever account for, she would no longer have the chance to be able to affect him. _At least Myrtle is still alive. _There was still a chance that he would preserve his memory in a diary. But at least now he wouldn't be able to create a horcrux from it. Not yet.

Tom was clearly upset, there was only one logical option for him to choose. If he went back to the chamber, he risked the school being closed.

"I won't go back to the chamber," he said stiffly.

Hermione could have fainted from relief. "Promise that," she said.

So he did.


	18. Morfin Gaunt

_July 30, 1943_

Tom could feel only disappointment and slight confusion as he eyed the... shack, before him. He stood on a narrow dirt track bordered by high, wild hedgerows. The path was crooked, rocky and potholed, and had lead him to this copse. The walls of the small cottage were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew around it, their tips reaching the window, which were tiny and thick with grime.

_No one could possibly live here,_ Tom thought with a hint of slight disbelief. He had expected the house of his mother, the heirs of Slytherin, to be more...well, this definitely was not what he had had in mind.

It was deep into the night, the only light he had was from the full moon above him and the oil lamp he held in his hand. He had waited until his father and grandparents were asleep before donning his cloak and leather boots and sneaking out the houses. His father, certainly would have objected to him going to see Marvolo, his grandfather, and would have tried to dissuade him at all costs. Tom sneered at the thought.

Tom moved forward silently, the dark shadow of trees sliding over him, as he approached closer and closer to the cottage. He stopped once again when he reached the front door. Holding up his lamp higher, level with his face, he found a... snake? nailed to the door. It's dark blood still ran fresh, smearing onto the door and glowing silver in the moon's light. He eyed it in disgust. So someone did live here.

He couldn't imagine how the descendants of Slytherin could treat snakes in this manner. Tom sniffed, affronted. He was quite partial to snakes. Tom lowered his lamp and forcefully knocked on the door, causing the snake to swing pathetically. Then, slowly, he pushed open the creaky door. His eyes shifted around the hove which seemed to contain three tiny rooms.

He observed that the main room, which he stood in, served as a living room and kitchen combined. Two more doors lead off the main room. His eyes stopped upon a man sitting in an worn out arm chair, pushed to the far corner of the room. Tom and the man stared at each other for a few seconds before the man staggered upright, causing many empty bottles at his feet to clatter and tinkle across the floor.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And the man hurtled drunkenly at him, wand and knife held aloft.

"_Stop."_

Tom spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into to table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Tom. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"_You speak it?"_

"_Yes, I speak it,"_ said Tom. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Tom strolled in, showing no fear, his face only expressing thinly veiled disgust. He could not help but feel the slightest bit disappointment. He bit the feeling back.

"_Where is Marvolo?" _he asked.

"_Dead," _said the stocky, dirty man. "_Died years ago, didn't he?"_

Tom frowned.

"_Who are you, then?" _Tom asked, hopeful that maybe, possibly, this man was not his relative.

"_I'm Morfin, ain't I?"_

"_Marvolo's son?"_

" '_Course I am, then..."_

Tom watched Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face. Tom was taken aback when he saw that his _uncles, _he thought disgustedly, eyes crossed outwards. His repulsion, however, was quickly forgotten when he saw the black-stoned ring on Marvolo's right hand. He had only seen pictures, mere sketches of that ring in ancient texts. _Slytherin's ring! _he thought excitedly. Greed flashed briefly in his eyes. _Mine._

"_I thought you was that muggle," _whispered Morfin. "_You look mighty like that muggle."_

"_What muggle?" _said Riddle, though he knew exactly who it was that Morfin was referring to.

"_That muggle what my sister took a fancy to. That muggle what lives in that big fancy house over the way," _said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them.

Tom crinkled his nose at the man's crudeness.

"_You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older 'n you, now I think on it..."_

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "_He come back, see," he added stupidly._

Tom gazed at Morfin, different schemes crossing his mind as he pondered how he would obtain Slytherin's ring from Morfin. Tom _would_ have that ring. He was dead set on it.

Tom slid closer towards Morfin and attempting to keep Morfin talking said, "_Riddle came back?"_

"_Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" _said Morfin spitting on the floor again.

Tom inwardly cringed. _Filth._

"_Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, Where's Slytherin's locket?"_

_Locket?_ Tom thought, as excitement flooded him. The Gaunt's had Slytherin's two greatest possessions! Well, at least they had _had_ the to heirlooms. Tom would need to look into finding where exactly it was his _dear _mother had kept the locket.

While Tom rolled this new information through his head, Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted,

"_Dishonored us, she did, that little slut!"_

Tom had to refrain from rolling his eyes. _She had_ _dishonored them? _The idea was laughable.

"_And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over innit... It's over..."_

Tom watched as his uncle looked away, staggering slightly. Tom moved forward. This had been, quite an enlightening talk. Tom let his magic lash out around him, extinguishing his lamp and Morfin's candle. Extinguishing everything until the only light that shown was the faint light trying to come through the small grimy windows. _Disgusting._

Tom's eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness as he overpowered his uncle. Morfin's wand flew from his his grip into Tom's hand. Tom was not happy. That had been too easy. Morfin was not fit to be an heir of Slytherin. In a last attempt to defend himself, Morfin lunged in the dark towards Tom, a knife firm in his grip- before he froze.

Tom non-verbally cast _lumos_. The tip of his wand glowed bright blue. His oil lamp relit, emitting a bright orange glow. The candles in the cottage stood straight and lit themselves. The sooty fireplace roared to life. The cottage flooded in orange light.

Tom stood facing his petrified uncle, who was frozen mid lunge, his arms outstretched towards Tom. The blade of Morfin's knife, glinting from the fire's light, was a mere couple inches away from hitting its mark, Tom's forehead. Similarly, Tom stood ramrod straight, his left arm raised straight before him, grasping Morfin's dark wand tightly. The tip of the wand was mockingly pressed between the his uncle's eyes. Relaxing from his stance, his expression still cold, Tom retracted the wand. He watched emotionless as his uncle's eyes darted around the room from fright.

Tom reached his hand toward Morfin's outstretched hand, and slowly removed the ring staring straight into his uncle's eyes. He could almost hear Morfin's internal screams as Tom slipped Morfin's most valuable possession into his cloak pocket. Tom paid no mind. The ring was rightfully _his._

Tom had come this far, he had come to satisfy his curiosity to learn about his mother. Admittedly, he was disappointed. But he did acquire Slytherin's ring and also gain knowledge of another precious treasure, something he had not planned on.

Now he had a decision to make. Obviously he couldn't just leave now. Morfin would come after him. Not that Tom wouldn't be able to defend himself, but If Morfin appeared in Little Hangleton, it would initiate unwanted questions from his father and grandparents. And that would be too much trouble. He could, on the other hand, kill Morfin. Oh, Tom didn't for a second doubt that he could do it.

Tom regarded his mother's brother closely. Dressed in rags, gaunt, in need of a good shower. Had his mother lived like this too? _No, _he refused to believe it. And Morfin's eyes, they were the same color as Tom's.

_Stupefy! _Morfin fell back unconscious onto the stone floor. Tom was feeling decidedly generous. He levitated the still form of his uncle back onto the moth bitten chair. Leaning over his uncle's slumped form, Tom performed a memory charm. He watched as the older man's eyes flickered behind his closed lids. Morfin would never remember his encounter with the boy, who he would never know was in fact, his nephew.

Tom straightened himself and with a flick of Morfin's wand, the sprawled bottles floated back into place. Summoning one of the bottles, to transfigured it into an exact replica of the black-stoned ring. Tom deftly slipped it onto Morfin's finger. Once again raising the unfamiliar wand, all the lights went out except for his own oil lamp's. He was shrouded in an almost complete darkness.

Muttering a string of repeated _deletrius_, he removed any trace that he had ever stepped into the Gaunt's Shack. Tom was very thorough after all. Slipping the wand back into the other wizards grasp, he reached for his lamp and slipped out the creaky door, closing it firmly behind him.

Tom walked along the trail leading up to Little Hangleton. The moon lightened his way, as the oil lamp he carried had dimmed down and the air was cool on the summer night. passed the village on his left and made his way up the path to Riddle Manor on the opposite hill. He was extremely satisfied. Tonight had been very eventful. He strolled across the lush lawn of his home. With a jump in his step, he strode up the white stairs of the porch, as remaining adrenaline from his earlier encounter still addled through his system.

The front door was unlocked. Tom scowled slightly. He was forever pestering his grandmother, he hated that she never locked the doors. However, she was unrelenting and as a result, Tom lock the door whenever he found it unlocked. This greatly annoyed Mary Riddle, and she would not hesitate to tease him for his silly precautions.

Tom locked the door behind him and headed towards the stairs to his room.

"Tom, is that you?" Mrs. Riddles voice called from the living room.

Tom paused in his steps, then backtracked to the living room where his grandmother sat on the floral couch.

"Where have you been? Do you realize how late it is?" she asked sternly.

Mary Riddle had had the strangest feeling when she woke from her sleep. She had silently left her husband in bed and went to check on her son, then her grandson. When she had discovered he was missing, she had had quite a fright, but decided not to wake her husband and son and instead decided to wait for her grandson's return.

"I couldn't sleep. I took a stroll around the grounds," he said, coming up with his excuse quickly.

Her expression softened.

"Ah well, that's that, then. But you mustn't let me catch you out past late again. Understood? Go on to bed dear."

Tom left the room, bidding his grandmother good night.

Lying in his bed, his eyes slightly widened, Tom rest under his sheets, one arm folded behind his head, the other over the silk blanket across his chest, a ring resting on his finger. How had his father even gotten involved with his mother? The meeting seemed very unlikely to Tom, after he had witnessed exactly where his mother had come from. There was something his father wasn't telling him.

At the moment Tom was feeling two very conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was ecstatic over the ring on his finger and the knowledge he had gained tonight. On the other, he was angry at the possibility of his father leaving his mother because of her upbringings. Angry that his mother had not come from wealth and greatness. Angry that Slytherin's line had degraded so. Angry. He didn't want to deal with these emotions.

He hoped to fall into a deep sleep the moment he closed his eyes.


	19. Trolley Accidents

Tom lugged his trunk to the nearest empty cart and carefully lifted his belongings into it. He made his way through the familiar station, and oddly enough, the noisy, bumbling muggle did not annoy him. He was so close to being able to use magic again. His body yearned to use the magic which had built up inside him. How he absolutely despised the underage use of magic law. _One more year,_ he told himself, _one more year and you're a free wizard. _That day couldn't come soon enough, in Tom's opinion.

Tom pushed his cart down the busy walkway, facing the platforms. A big plastic number nine was bolted above one platform and a couple yards down, was a big plastic number ten above another. He strolled confidently towards the brick barrier between the two platforms. He could hear only his footsteps as they quickly and evenly clicked across the smooth floors.

He was so close.

Just a couple more steps_._

Almost there.

"Tom!"

_Crash!_

The cart hit the barrier and bounced backward. Tom's cart fell with a loud thump.

Hermione stood frozen, eyes wide in shock, her expression mirroring the ones of passers bys surrounding Tom. Tom lay sprawled on the ground, though he hastily stood and straightened up, running his hand through his disheveled hair. His cart lay a few feet away from him, turned on its side, his large trunk sticking out of it, though thankfully, it was still closed. Hermione watched as a small crowd stopped to gather around him, they seemed to be talking to him.

Snapping out of her dazed state, Hermione hurriedly rushed towards Tom. As she neared him, she heard Tom murmur, "Lost control of the trolley."

She saw his cheeks flush faintly under the admonishing and worried stares. When Hermione reached him, the crowd began to disperse and she thanked the muggle man in a blue suit after he had helped straighten up Tom's cart. She didn't for a second entertain the idea that Tom would thank him. She was right, of course, Tom stood looking miffed at Hermione as the man in blue tipped his hat to her before turning off and heading on his way. Uncomfortable under Tom's glare, Hermione grabbed the cart's handle and smoothly slipped into the brick barrier.

When she had entered King's Cross, she had intended to see Tom off before his sixth year. She had spotted Tom in the crowded station and had automatically called out to him. Needless to say, she had not noticed that he was about to walk through the barrier, or else she would not have startled him. Hermione passed through the bricks and entered Hogwarts station, Taking in the familiar view of witches and wizards being sent off by their families and the gleaming red train. She stopped a couple yards away from the barrier and turned to see Tom just passing through it. His eyes found hers and he cut straight through the throng of excited students to her.

"Jean," he greeted albeit with annoyance, and Hermione was surprised to note how much deeper his had gotten. She had yet to get used to it, and strangely enough, she found herself missing the cute lisp Tom had had when he was younger. He would do this thing where he would sslur hiss "s"s. She supposed it had something to do with him being a parseltongue.

"Hello, Tom. Er, sorry about earlier," Hermione started nervously. She looked up to see Tom shrug. "I came to see you off."

Tom was curious to know how Hermione had known to be there today at that time. As far as he knew, Hermione had not attended Hogwarts. He had checked the year books in the library. Of course, it hadn't been that simple. He didn't know how old Hermione actually was. In fact, Tom could, albeit grudgingly, admit that he didn't know much anything about Hermione at all. So, during his spare hours, he would pick up yearbook from the library and flick through their pages, searching for Hermione's face. However, his time had been wasted, so far at least, as he had yet to find what he was searching for.

Tom's eyes followed Hermione's movements as she pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head and stuffed her slim hands into her cream corduroys. Tom's eyes shifted to the cart as his trunk began to levitate out of it. Tom raised a brow at her and she shrugged before scuffling her boots and heading towards the train, the trunk floating a few feet ahead of her. Tom exhaled, running his hand through his hair and looked around him at parting families before striding after her as she entered the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione sent Tom's trunk towards the luggage compartment then continued to walk past crowded compartment, until she reached one that was unoccupied. Tom and Hermione stood in the middle of the compartment awkwardly before they both sat in the opposite cushioned seats facing each other.

Hermione found that she was excited to be back on the Hogwarts express. She had missed her seventh year at Hogwarts after all, and she was feeling quite reasonably nostalgic. She had only just been on the run with the ministry's most wanted man. Desirable number one, Harry Potter.

The train's whistle sounded, and Hermione looked towards Tom who was looking at her oddly.

"Are you _st_-," he began.

"Well the train stops at Hogsmeade station, right? I figured I could apparate from there."

Tom nodded and leaned against the window at his side as the scene outside the window quickly passed him by.

"I hadn't planned on staying, but I rather like it here. You weren't planning on meeting your friends here_, _were you?"

"No," Tom said quickly, "I was just thinking that maybe you would have somewhere you would need to be." _Doing whatever it is you do, wherever it is you usually go after you leave. _Tom looked back up at Hermione and frowned when he saw that she didn't seem to be listening to him. She had a weird glint in her eyes and he followed her gaze to his-

Tom quickly shoved his left hand into the pocket of his perfectly creased black trousers and quickly looked back up to Hermione who stared intently back at him.

Hermione was confused. She had gone to the Gaunt's Shack to check up on Morfin before going to see Tom off. She had _seen_ Morfin wearing the Gaunt ring_, T_he very same one she had very clearly seen on Tom's hand. The pieces clicked together in Hermione's head and she felt_- _she didn't know what to call it. Astonishment, relief, pride...

This time around Tom had still stolen the ring, but at least no one had died.

"That's umm, a very_-_ _lovely_," Hermione grimaced, as she bit the word out, "ring, Tom."

Tom couldn't tell exactly why, but he had a feeling that he shouldn't let Hermione see the ring. He was surprised to find that he felt, however miniscule the amount, ashamed that she had seen it, his trophy. Although, there was no way that Hermione could know exactly how he had obtained the ring so...

"It belonged to my grandfather. On my mother's side," Tom said slowly.

"I know," Hermione said, and she bit her bottom lip. She didn't notice when Tom's eyes widened slightly. "May I _s_ee it?" she blurted out and immediately her face flushed.

Tom simply stared at her, frowning slightly before he nodded. Hermione tentatively stood and sat beside him as she brought his hand out from his pocket. He did not notice, _when_ he held his breath _as _Hermione's hands carefully took his as she leaned closer to inspect the ring. She smoothed her thumb over the Peverell coat of arms engraved into the stone.

It wasn't yet a horcrux, she noted. She knew the power of this stone_._ _P_ower that Tom was painfully oblivious to. Knowledge that Tom would probably kill to _know_. To see his mother just once...

She couldn't deny that she was curious about using the stone to see Tom's mother. There was so much that no one, not even Dumbledore knew about her. _Merope was a true Riddle_. But however curious she might be, she imagined it was nowhere near as curious as Tom might be if he knew of the possibility. Despite the compartments stuffy temperature, Hermione still managed to shiver at the thought. She quickly dropped Tom's hand which promptly fell to his lap, before straightening herself out and standing to sit across Tom.

"How did you-"

"You visited your uncle, didn't you." she accused.

"Yes, I did," Tom said smoothly. "You know that my grandfather is dead," Tom deduced.

"Yes."

_How?_

_"_What did you think of the Gaunt Sh-, House?" Hermione clumsily fixed, flushing slightly.

Tom's expression did not change.

"Tom?"

"It was... not what I expected," Tom intoned slowly.

"And the meeting has left you confused," Hermione said knowingly. She brought her legs up onto the seat and crossed them, then placed her forearms on her knees and scrutinized him intently. What she wanted, was a reaction. Some sort of personal confession, but Tom stubbornly stayed quiet and his serious expression would not be phased.

Sighing, Hermione leaned back into the seat. "Tom I was-"

"You know what happened between my mother and father," Tom blurted out. "My father won't speak of it, he can barely stand to hear _my moth_e_r's name_ spoken!" Tom hissed.

Hermione was taken aback by this new development.

"I know that you know what happened between them! Why won't you tell me?" Tom demanded. By his side, his hands had curled into fist.

Hermione frowned and said, "Well, one, you never directly asked. Two, I was hoping your father would be able to tell you the truth or that you might be able to put together the truth by yourself after your encounter with-," she stopped suddenly, she might have let too much slip. Coughing awkwardly, she then continued, " Three, you never said 'please'."

Hermione watched as Tom gritted his teeth, and she could have sworn that the vein in his hand twitched. She began to feel unnerved. "I-I was just kidding about the 'please' part," Hermione stammered quietly.

Tom looked her in the eye, "Will you tell me or not?" _Please, _his mind begged of her.

Hermione was quiet for some time. Minutes literally passed. She thought of the original timeline. Tom had discovered what his mother had done after he killed his father. Could she still tell Tom? On the other hand, if Hermione denied knowledge of what happened, Tom would see straight through her. And if she refused to tell him, he would begin to truly resent her. _Then_ how would she complete her mission? _I need more time to think this over. Oh Merlin, that look. _"What courses are you taking this year?" she blurted. _Oh Merlin_, she could have kicked herself. Smooth Hermione.

Tom looked at _h_er incredulously, his gray eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. His breathing quickened and he emitted a strange strangled noise deep from his throat.

"ARITHMANCY, ANCIENT RUNES, ASTRONOMY, CHARMS, DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS, DIVINATION, HERBOLOGY, TRANSFIGURATION, AND POTIONS!" Tom _hissed venomously. _He stood abruptly and left the compartment, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione let out a shaky breath. Er... that had gone, well, not so good. Definitely not as she had planned. She never really was good when it came to comforting other people. And she had panicked. Hermione's mind wandered to third year, when Lavender's bunny Binky had died. She let out a strangled laugh. Her attempt to placate Lavender over the death of her bunny had been disastrous. Though admittedly, it had not gone as badly nor had it been nearly as important, as this meeting had been.

The compartment door slid open suddenly. "Anything from the trolley dear?" asked an elderly witch with long locks of silver hair.

Hermione stared at the brightly wrapped candies displayed on the cart. Reaching into her cloak pocket, she pulled out several bronze nuts and picked two chocolate frogs. Alone again in the cart, she shoved the chocolates into her pockets. Soon, the train would be reaching Hogwarts. And Tom had not returned. But she would be a fool to think he would. Summoning parchment and a bright purple pen that advertised, _Granger Dental Associates_, she got to work penning a letter. She re read her letter before_, _satisfied, leaving the the letter on the seat Tom had occupied. Standing in the middle of the compartment, she looked around finding everything to be in order and disapparated.

. . .

Tom found the compartment empty when he returned. His face remained passive. _Of course she left. _He had know that when he returned, she would not be there. _So why did you still check_? His eye caught on parchment that lay innocently where he had sat. He picked it up _as_ the train's whistle sounded, signaling their arrival at Hogsmeade station. He slipped the parchment into his trouser pocket.

Getting off the train, before other students started flooding out, he straightened his already straight collar and his green and silver tie. As he made his way up the dirt path towards the horseless carriages, he smoothed out non existent wrinkles from the sleeves of the white button down he wore under his black wool vest.

"Tom!"

He turned to look behind him, towards the direction the deep voice had come from. He watched as his ravenclaw friend Fulton Diggory jogged up to him, a golden headboy badge shining on his chest.

"Congratulations," Tom said nodding towards the badge.

"You as well," Diggory said gesturing his hand towards Tom chest. "Say, you missed the prefect's meeting on the train," he said, as he entered the carriage after Tom. Sitting across Tom, he arched his brow questioningly_._

Tom sat, lounging on the seat as two _s_lytherins entered the carriage. "I know."


	20. Hermione

1943

Tom sat alone at his desk in the slytherin boys dormitories mulling over papers by light of an oil lamp as his fellow sixth years were in deep slumber underneath their silk green sheets. Two months into the school year and he had already long started pulling all- nighters. Tom was somewhat of a perfectionist when it came to grades. He was, afterall, the most brightest wizard to enter Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore. And he'd be damned if he missed a single question on an exam. And so, as a result, while his dorm mates slumbered, he read over his notes, occasionally referencing his text books.

Uncrossing his silk clad legs, he straightened from his hunched position and neatly stacked his parchments before storing them into his school satchel. As he stretched his arms above him and crossed them, his black cotton shirt rode up. He rolled his neck and closed his stinging eyes tightly. He stood from the wooden desk and with a small horizontal slash of his pointer and middle finger, the light went out, leaving him shadowed in the green glow that filtered through the window. Tom slipped onto his bed, lying on his stomach with his cheek against his pillow.

He shouldn't. He knew he really shouldn't. It wasn't as though he hadn't already committed every word to his memory. Yet... Sighing he reached a hand out to his side table and grappled for the cool metal knob before opening it and retrieving the crinkled bit of parchment. Pulling his wand from his black pants, he rolled onto his back and touched the tip of his wand to the parchment. The tip began to glow a faint blue. Holding the letter above his face, he read the fading letters like he had countless nights he got it.

_Tom,_

_I need to be away for some time. I'll try to get you answers. The ones about your mother and father. You did promise to stay out of trouble._

_Jean_

The glow of his wand faded and he shoved it back into his pocket. His long fingers folded the scrap of parchment and he leaned over the side of his bed to place Jean's note back into the drawer where it joined a similar folded letter, chocolate foils, and a pink sweets packaging.

Tom was anxious to see Jean. _Only to get information from her_, he told himself, each time he found himself re reading her letter.

She believed he was up to something? Him, a model student! Alright, he could grudgingly admit to himself that it irked him that she seemed suspicious of him, that he couldn't charm her into liking him.

He turned onto his back again and stared at the velvet curtains above him. His right hand came to join his left hand which lay on his stomach and his fingers began to spin the ring that lay on his left hand. Jean Grant. She had a lot of explaining to do. And not just about her knowledge and insight of his parent's relationship.

As he had grown without knowing of the existence of magic, not much of anything he learned surprised him. To him, nothing was impossible. Demons could steal your soul, a spell existed that could allow one to control another's actions, monsters of children's nightmares lived, and immortality...

Tom stopped the motion of his hands and let them fall to his sides. Yes, nothing was impossible. Not for him at least. So why couldn't he explain Jean's appearance in his life, how she seemed to him to be the same age she was when he had first laid his eyes on her six years ago. How his mother had died despite the fact that she was a witch. His fist clenched.

Tom hated to be uninformed. Especially in matters that dealt specifically with him. He didn't usually like to think of these matters to deeply. It would leave him frustrated because he knew perfectly well that at the end of all of his internal rantings, he was still left just as, his jaw clenched to say it, clueless, as he was before.

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, retreating into the warmth of his blankets. He concentrated on clearing his mind. He eventually fell into a deep sleep.

_. . ._

Filtered light seeped into the boy's dormitory and Tom woke. His eyes slowly opened and he allowed himself a couple seconds to wake before sitting up onto the side of his bed and rubbing a fist against his sleepy grey eyes. He stood, his bare feet touching the cool stone floor and stretched before retrieving his wand to levitate his uniform behind him as he entered the bathroom to wash up.

He passed his sleeping roommates as per usual, the earliest riser, and began to follow his daily routine. The rest of his house wouldn't wake for another hour. Locking the door of the bathroom, he turned the iron wrought handle of the marble sink, allowing a stream of water to trickle through his hands. Looking up into the mirror, he narrowed his eyes at his nappy bed hair. Tom went on to fix his hair, going over and reciting the latest ancient runes formulas in his head, unaware that he had dreamed the night before. Just as he had forgotten countless other dreams from many a night before, and would forget many a nights to come.


	21. Retrieving Memories

The large white door of the manor swung open to reveal a black cloaked figure. Its pale hands reached up to remove their hood. Tom Riddle Sr. opened the door wider, gesturing to the figure to come inside.

"Mrs. Grant, it's been quite some time."

Hermione hurried in, following Mr. Riddle into the living room, rejecting his offer to take her cloak. In the room richly furnished room, they sat facing opposite each other on floral couches. Hermione plucked a sweet off the silver platter on the wooden coffee table that was situated between them.

"What brings you here?" Tom asked curiously at her sudden arrival.

"Tom has been asking me question. About your," she paused slightly, "relationship with Merope."

She watched Tom visibly stiffened, then shift uncomfortably, crossing his legs at the ankles and slightly tugging on the collar of his crisp black button down.

"I told him I would answer his questions the next time I saw him... since you won't,' she added, looking at him pointedly.

"You came here for my permission?" he asked as lightly as he could manage.

"I came to ask you a favor. For your son," she said quietly.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her beaded bag. With her wand she summoned Dumbledore's pensieve that she had removed from its stone basin and his glass cabinet of memories that she had taken with her from his office the night before the final battle. Tom slid the silver platter over the table's glass surface to the side, making room for the obsidian bowl she held in her hands. Hermione carefully placed the shallow bowl onto the cleared surface then placed the shrunken cabinet beside the table, tapping it with her wand.

"Engorgio."

The cabinet expanded to its full size, and she opened glass panel. Her fingertips hovered above the small glass vials until she found what she was looking for and plucked it up. She held it eye level to Tom, her arms stretched in front of her.

"This, is a memory," she said, then she lowered the vial , and uncapped it. She tipped its contents into the pensieve, a single silver tear poured out, creating swirls of black in the clear liquid of the bowl. She held out her hand to Tom. Cautiously, he reached his out his own hand and took hers, arching a brow in question.

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly at his action. Really, the similarities between Tom Sr. and his son were uncanny. Much like Harry and his father James, or so she had heard. Shaking her head slowly she focused back on Tom who was looking slightly nervous. She pulled him closer and silver light reflected off their faces as she leaned them over the bowl.

Tom stared wide eyed bright strands of a whitish silver swirling ceaselessly. The room gave an almighty lurch and the two were thrown forward and pitched head first into the substance inside the basin. His eyes widened as they fell through something icy- cold and black; he felt as though he were being sucked into a dark whirlpool. The black faded and dissolved as though made of smoke, and rose into the air, dissolving. They landed flat on their feet.

Tom dropped her hand and looked over at Hermione incredulously. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that Hermione was already heading down the sloping grass hill. Tom turned his head about wildly as he took in his surroundings. _A memory? _Had he heard correctly?

They were in a copse in the woods. He could see the sun shining brightly down from the bright blue sky, but he could feel no heat. Neither could he feel the slight breeze that caused the tall grasses to sway gently. He stood on the potholed road and looked towards the Gaunt Shack. He had passed by the place numerous times in his youth; He could recall having always pestered his father to have the hovel cleared away.

His attention was drawn back to Hermione who waved him toward the open door of the Gaunt Shack, motioning for him to enter before she herself disappeared into it.

"It's just a memory," she said in an attempt to quell his panic when he entered the shack. They stood in the corner of the shack watching as the scene unfolded before them. Hermione watched as Tom gradually paled.

Merope was standing beside a steaming pot on a gritty black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother's, who was sitting in a filthy armchair beside a smoking fire fondling a snake, stared in opposite direction. Although Hermione was expecting it she still could not hold back her slight cringe when Merope dropped one of the pots. The clang was deafening.

"Pick it up!" Marvolo bellowed at his trembling daughter.

Hermione felt Tom start, appalled, beside her.

"That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy muggle, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"

Merope picked up the pot, flushed a blotchy scarlet, and lost her grip on the pot again. She drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her and hit the opposite wall.

Tom stood stock still as the nightmarish memory unfolded before him. He was brought out of the terrifyingly entrancing scene when Marvolo released an almighty roar. Tom's eyes narrowed on the ring Marvolo wore on his hand, which he waved in front of the bizarrely dressed wizard.

"See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"

That ring, was so glaringly familiar to Tom. His son wore it on his left hand always. How had Tom come into possession of it? His thoughts raced wildly through his head, but his attention was brought elsewhere, when Marvolo, with a howl of rage, ran toward his Merope. For a split second, Tom thought he was going to throttle her as his hand flew to her throat; next moment, he was dragging her toward the Ogden fellow.

"Slytherin's! Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"

"Mr. Guant, your daughter!" said Ogden in alarm, but Gaunt had already released Merope; she staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air.

Tom was horrified for her. He slowly pulled his eyes away from the trembling witch and back towards Ogden and Marvolo.

"- is that Morfin performed a jinx of hex on the said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives."

Morfin giggled. Tom felt the strangest itching in the depth of his brain. _Somethings not right._

Then Marvolo did the strangest thing. He snarled hissing sounds towards his son, who immediately fell silent. Tom had sometimes heard the strange noises coming from his own son when he was younger and was asleep. He had thought nothing of it then. His brow furrowed.

"And so what if he did, then?" Marvolo said defiantly to Ogden. "I expect you've wiped the muggle's filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot-"

_Wiped the memory?_

"That's hardly the point, is it , Mr. Gaunt?" said Ogden. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless-"

"Ar, I had you marked out as a muggle-lover the moment I saw you," sneered Marvolo, and he spat on the floor.

"This discussion is getting us nowhere," Ogden said firmly."It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He glanced down at his scroll of parchment again. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a muggle and causing harm and distress to that same mugg-"

Ogden broke off. The jingling, clopping sound of horses and loud, laughing voices were drifting in through the open window. Marvolo froze, listening, his eyes wide. Morfin hissed and turned his face toward the sounds, his expression hungry. Merope raised her head. Her face, Tom saw, was starkly white.

"My God, what an eyesore?" rang out a girl's voice, causing Tom to stiffen before cautiously turning his head to look out the small window. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"

"It's not ours," said a young man's voice. His. "everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village-"

The girl laughed. The jingling, clopping noises were growing louder and louder. Morfin made to get out of his armchair.

"Tom," said the girl's voice again, now so close they were clearly right beside the house, "I might be wrong- but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"

"Good lord, you're right!" said the man's voice. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia darling."

The jingling and clopping sounds were now growing fainter again.

Morfin whispered in parseltongue, causing Morfin to hiss and raspe incomprehensibly as he walked toward Merope, drawing back Tom's attention. He watched Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, apparently unable to speak. Morfin began to cackle and hiss, then Marvolo was roaring, losing control and closing his hands around his daughter's neck.

Both Tom and Ogden yelled "No!" at the same time. Ogden waved his wand, throwing Marvolo back, inducing Marvolo to roar in rage and leap straight towards the portly wizard, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand.

Hermione decided that Tom had seen enough. Tom felt Hermione hurriedly grab his arm as Merope's screams filled the hovel. With a tug on his elbow they were both soaring weightlessly through darkness, until they landed squarely on their feet back in his family's living room. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell back onto the couch where as Hermione landed gracefully on the opposite sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap and watched calmly as Tom quickly composed himself, straightening his posture and running his hand through his hair, combing the strands neatly back into place.

"What, was _that_?" Tom asked, brow furrowed, frowning slightly as he tried to slow his heart's frantic beatings..

Hermione pointed to the disk. "This is called a pensieve. A witch or wizard can extract a memory and view it in this. I want to show this to Tom." she added.

After a while where he thought it over, he nodded slowly in agreement. "But you didn't come here just to show me this, did you?" Tom asked slowly.

Hermione shook her head and leaned in forward slightly. "I came to show you this, and as I said earlier, ask a favor of you. I want to extract your memories of Merope. To show to Tom. She saw his face twist to a grimace and quickly rushed on, "The memory I showed you, alone won't show Tom the whole story."

"I-I don't think, I mean-,"

"If Tom doesn't know the truth, than he will continue to, and always will resent you and his grandparents," she pointed out, though they both knew he was already aware of the fact.

"Mr. Riddle, I think this will be good for your relationship with Tom," she said quietly. After a silence had dragged on, Tom finally spoke.

"Alright. What memory do you need?" he said grudgingly.

Hermione smiled slightly at him. "Concentrate on the day when Merope gave you that drink, the love potion. This will be crucial for Tom to see," she said as she moved to sit beside him.

Tom tensed when she raised her wand. "It won't hurt," she assured him.

Tom could only nod before shifting seat facing where Hermione sat beside him. He closed his eyes and leaned slightly closer to her, concentrating hard on recalling the day that changed his life forever.

He felt cool wood touch his temple, then a pulling sensation from the depth of his mind. Startled, he almost opened his eyes when he heard her say, "Keep your concentration."

Tom ran the memory though mind, clear as day.

"Alright," Hermione said, steadily moving her wand away from him, a delicate sliver of silver hanging from the tip of her wand. She pulled out a small crystal vial from her pocket and sealed the memory within it. Tom opened his eyes.

"That's it?" he asked a bit shakily.

"Yes, it's good enough for me." She said relieved. Tom watched as she tucked the vial into her pocket.

"That hissing, Jean," Tom remembered suddenly, "what was that?"

"It's a language called _parseltongue_. It's a common trait in the descendants of Slytherin. It is the ability to talk to snakes."

"Ah. I've seen Tom making the very same noises before, I had thought nothing of it at the time." Tom said with a slight frown.

"Yes, Tom is a parselmouth but it's nothing to be concerned about. And I can't possibly imagine how you could have know what the hissing was as you are not magic," Hermione tried to reassure him.

Hermione hovered back over the pensieve and collected Ogden's memory from the bowl and restored it in its vial, then placed it in her pocket as well. Hermione carefully stored a shrunken pensieve and cabinet into her beaded bag. She smiled slightly at Tom and stood to leave.

"I didn't know," Tom said softly, causing her to pause in her steps.

She looked back towards his curiously. He didn't look back at her, rather he sat with his bent arms resting over his knees staring glassily at the ground.

"I can not see how I can forgive her, how I could ever forgive Merope for what she did to me, but... I can understand her little more clearly now. Though I wish the event never happened, I'm grateful that at least Tom came out of the whole mess."


	22. Hiding Places

_December 27, 1943_

She fell in a heap against the snow covered rose bushes that surrounded Riddle Manor. Quickly, she righted herself, uselessly brushing bits of snow off her robes. Everything was covered in thick fluffy layers of white that glittered in the quarter moon's light. It was cold.

Good. Tom would be home for the Holidays. The lights in the manor were out. She made her way, trudging through the snow to the porch. The door was locked this time. She mumbled a spell. This time when she went to turn the knob, the door opened easily. Stepping inside, she quickly closed the door behind her and cast a drying charm on her boots and cloak making sure to lock the door behind her.

Through the dark, she made her way down the hall towards the stairs. Without a sound, she walked up the carpeted steps, her hand gliding over top of the mahogany railing all the way to the top of the landing. Now to choose a door. She walked to the first door on the left and peered inside.

The room was quite large and the far wall held three large arching windows that overlooked the snow covered valley and village. At the foot of a heavily blanketed bed was a school trunk. Stepping fully into the room, she closed the door behind her. Walking closer to the spacious bed, Hermione could see only Tom's head and arm under above the tangle of sheets. His wavy hair flopped messily away from his face and dark shadows crossed his chiseled features, cast by the glow seeping in through the windows.

Once again Hermione found herself likening him to an angel, just as she had when he had been younger. The only thing to mar the image, his slight frown and the furrow of his brow. Even in his sleep he could be unpleasant. Hermione frowned slightly at the image and walked away from the seemingly innocent picture so she could take in the room. The walls were bare and it was too dark for Hermione to make out their exact color. A bookshelf, monstrous in size, lined one wall almost completely, the black wood crammed with texts and journals. In front of the bookshelf, she could just make out the titles of the books.

Picking a random one, she was surprised to find it was a muggle book of scientific theory. She carefully place it back in its slot, then picked another. There was an obvious glamors cast on it. Waving her hand over the cover, The works of Shakespeare became, _A History of Magic: Great Britain in the Dark Ages_. Of course he would keep an extensive collection of magical books. She closed the leather covers after replacing the glamour cast on it and slid the book back into its place.

In the room was also a large oak wardrobe placed beside a polished desk whose top was organized with several inkwells and quills, and a black leather sofa pushed against the same wall of the door she had come through. Beside the wardrobe was another door. Curious, Hermione went to it and opened the door, looking inside. It was a bathroom. White tiled floors, a rustic bath and sink, an unframed mirror, and neatly folded towels upon spotless marble counter tops.

Hermione knew it wasn't right to snoop around, so feeling only slightly guilty, she closed the door and reentered Tom's bedroom. She knew perfectly well that she was only stalling. She was of course, nervous of what Tom's reaction might be. She walked to the desk and sat on the cushioned wooden arm chair. Would he understand and forgive his father, and Thomas and Mary Riddle as well? Maybe he would be even angrier at discover the truth.

Hermione opened the drawer of the desk in front of her. Inkwells, quills, rolls of parchment. She closed it quietly. What if he just didn't care any more? She began to chew her bottom lip nervously. Springing up, she made to stand beside Tom's bed. When something caught her eye and halted her steps. Peeking out from just under the bed was a slip of paper. She bent to pick it up. Standing upright, she tilted the scrap towards the light of the window. A newspaper clipping. She read through it quickly.

She brought the paper down from her face and her frown deepened. It was an article from a wizarding newspaper, Grindelwald's movements across Europe. Why would Tom have this? Hermione racked her brain for something she might be missing, but she was drawing a blank. Tom had not been involved in the war during the original timeline. For Merlin's sake, the war hadn't even reached Britain yet. Professor Dumbledore had made sure of that!

Hermione had viewed all of the memories involving Tom Marvolo RIddle. Dumbledore's collection was quite extensive, not to mention, the only existing one of Lord Voldemort in the existence. Hermione was positive that Tom had not had anything to do with the war. Something had gone wrong. Her eyes landed on the bedside table. What had changed?

Glancing over and Tom's slumbering figure, she made a quick choice. She opened the drawer, intent on finding... something. Kneeling down, she tucker a lock of loose hair behind her ear while her other hand carefully shifter items around.

What on earth? She froze her hand that had sorted through the bits of junk in the drawer. These couldn't be...

She picked up her letters, the bits and scraps of papers where she had written Tom notes.

In the back of the drawer was a small cigar box. She reached for it and lifter the top. More newspaper clippings. She carefully set the box on the table, wincing at the slight noise. She glanced at Tom, but he was still in deep slumber. She eyed the glass of water on the table before banishing the liquid. Grabbing the cup, she placed it in front of her. A blue flame appeared in the glass, glowing faintly as Hermione read the articles. A few tracked Grindelwald's movements. But Most of the articles were of raids and columns of obituaries. She paused at the obituaries, a few names had been crossed out with ink. What did that mean?

She looked up at Tom then back to the papers in her hands. Flicking her wrist, her wand appeared in her hand. _Gemino_ she thought, and copies of the papers piled neatly on the floor. Flicking her wand back into its holster, she grabbed the copies off the floor and stowed them away in her beaded bag. She took the originals and placed them carefully in the order in which she had viewed them into the box then back into the drawer.

She stood, questions whirring through her brain. Standing next to Tom's bed, she looked down at him. _The boy is a mystery._ Glancing around the room, everything looked to be in order. As if she had not been rifling through. Satisfied, she turns back to Tom, slowly reaching a hand toward his visible arm. Her heart rate quickened. She didn't want to touch him. Her hand jerked forward harshly, tugging at his arm. His breathing changed and she hastily pulled her hand back to her side.

Tom opened his eyes, blinking himself awake, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before he turned his head. Then he blinked. Again. And frowned, confused. He sat forward in his bed, eyes still on her.

"Jean, what are you doing here?," he asked, his voice slightly heavy from sleep.

"I know its late, but I thought, on the whole, I should come visit. I was in the area, and I knew you would have holiday."

Tom didn't respond, and all traces of sleep were absent from his face. The black leather

arm chair pulled from its position against the wall and floated over the wooden boards halting behind her and settling. She sat and pulled out her beaded bag from her pocket, extracting her objects from within it.

Tom broke the silence. "An extension charm? That's quite an impressive bit of magic. What else have you got in there?" he asked, folding his legs over each other and shifting to face her fully.

Hermione ignored his nosiness disguised as a thinly veiled complement and asked bitingly, "Do you know what this is?" as she gestured at the obsidian disk.

A bit put off, he answered, "no." Quite petulantly, she thought.

"This is a pensieve." She watched the metaphorical wheels turning in his head, but continued on anyways.

Tom listened intently. "A pensive allows the user to view memories extracted by a witch or wizard."

"Simply fascinating. And where did you come across this? I believe pensieves are extremely rare," he said lightly.

He was almost expecting her to ignore his question when she began slowly, "IT belonged to... a mentor of mine." She stopped short of words and shook her head. She reached into her pocket and Tom was able to catch a glimpse of two crystal vials, containing silver light. "I guess you might have gathered by now why I came here tonight," she said lightly as well.

She uncorked the first vial and poured it into the disk. He watched as the silver strand became wisps of black when it was submerged in the bowl. Hermione unscrewed the next bottle, tipping its contents in the disk as well and stared as faint light shadowed Tom's pale face and swirls of the memory reflected in his eyes. He looked up and caught her gaze. His eyes were hard and determined, but also wide and excited. There was something else there too. Something in his gaze that almost made her nervous for him.

"Tom?" she said suddenly, "Are you sure you want to see this? It...-It isn't very pretty," she said as she struggled to find the right words to warn him.

"I have to," he said readily, so surely. And she could understand. She wasn't sure how to go about doing this. She felt much more comfortable doing this with Tom Sr. Tentatively, she reached over the pensieve holding out her hand. Arching a brow slightly, confused but nonetheless took her hand, holding it firmly once it was in his grasp.

"Into the pensieve then," Tom heard Hermione mutter. Then the room gave an almighty lurch.


	23. Amortentia Lemonade

"But I got him, father!" cackled Morfin. "I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?"

"You disgusting squib, you filthy little blood traitor!" roared Gaunt, losing control, and his hands closed around his daughter's throat.

Tom stood frozen as Ogden yelled "No!"

Ogden raised his wand and cried, "Relashio!"

Tom watched as Marvolo was thrown backward, away from his mother. He tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his chair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand. Ogden ran for his life.

"Tom," Hermione spoke quietly, cautiously. He looked down at her where she tugged at his arm, then back up at Marvolo who was making his way towards his mother.

"Tom!" she tried a bit more forcefully. When he didn't respond, she reacted impulsively, shoving him out the door. She quickly joined him outside the shack in the gloriously sunny copse just as Merope's echoing screams began.

She didn't look back at the house and made sure that Tom wouldn't either. He didn't have to see that. She seized Tom's wrist and dragged him up the hill, following after Ogden who hurtled up the path and erupted onto the main lane. She chanced a glance back at Tom who was looking shaken and pale. She watched as he slowly began to turn his head back. She tugged his arm ,hard, his head snapping back, then turning towards her.

"She'll survive." Hermione said, stating the obvious as she attempted to cover Merope's screams. "Ogden will operate back to the ministry and return with reinforcements."

So they ran from the shack, him barefoot and in his night clothes and she with her black cloak swishing behind her. They caught up to Ogden on the main lane where he collided with a glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark haired young man. The man was almost identical to Tom.

He watched as his father began laughing. Another laugh, more feminine joined in. Tom's eyes drifted towards a pretty girl riding beside his father on a smaller, grey horse. She was laughing at the sight of Ogden, who bounced off the horse's flank and set off again, his frock coat flying, covered from head to foot in dust, running pell-mell up the lane. As Tom watched his father and this Cecilia girl roaring with laughter, an anger built in his chest.

Anger towards his father for being so arrogant towards wizards? For not giving his mother the time of day? For so enjoying himself with this other woman, this woman who, before now, he had never heard of? Or angry that he felt disappointed that his mother had not been a powerful, or even decent witch. The laughter faded and in the other distance and, as Hermione had said, he could hear the faint pop of apparition. The path began to dissolve as though it were made of smoke, everything was fading; Tom could only see his own body and- he twisted his head to see Hermione.

All else was swirling darkness...

And then the copse appeared again...

"Mr. Riddle gave me this memory,"Hermione said, looking at Tom. "He will meet Merope." Tom's interest was peaked. And Hermione's was too. This _had_ been a memory Dumbledore had not been able to collect, and she was curious to see for herself how Merope had executed her plan. It was extremely sunny in this memory, and though heat could not be felt in it, it was very bright. Hermione brought up her hand to shield her eyes as the door of the shack was thrown open.

Merope, dressed in rags made her way towards them. Her skin shone almost white in the sun's light and she held a glass filled with a cool, tempting, pink liquid. As if on cue, clopping of a horse's feet sounded over the dirt path. As Tom on his chestnut mare, Merope made her way closer up the path to meet him. Tom watched as his father came better into view, a sheen of Perspiration on his brow, lips slightly parted, and the top button of his shirt undone.

His father seemed to notice the figure approaching him, as he slowly came to a stop. Merope made the last couple of steps, raising the skirt of the dark grey dress slightly as she made her way up the grassy hill to the dirt path. Tom Sr. seemed a bit wary.

"May I help you? Miss...," he added on almost too late.

Merope's long dark hair fell across her face as she bowed her head, hiding her blush. She lifted the glass up to him, not looking him in the eye.

"Is- Is that for me? the young Mr. Riddle asked slightly surprised.

"J- Jean, that's ...that's not," Tom began incredulously, but Hermione seemed not to have heard him as she focused on what Merope would say next.

Merope still did not look up, but nodded her head eagerly. Looking as though he were feeling slightly uncomfortable at the situation, Tom Sr. attempted to smile gratefully. Taking the glass from her he said, "Er, yes, Think You, miss..."

"Merope" she responded hastily, an utterance that Tom and Hermione almost didn't catch.

"Merope, did you say? Well thank you," he turned forward and tilted the glass to his lips.

Merope finally looked up, brushing her hair behind her ear with jerky movements, watching as Tom's father downed the glass with her dull grey eyes that crossed in opposite directions. Tom Sr. lowered the glass, licking his lips. Then his eyes became glassy and he turned and fixed an ecstatic Merope with a loving stare. The scene began to dissolve again, and the couples were plunged in darkness.

Hermione took hold of Tom's arm, ready to pull them out of the pensieve when another memory appeared. Confused, Hermione watched the scene unfold. They stood in a small bedroom whose walls held and ugly paisley wallpaper. In the middle of the room, stood Tom's father, not noticeably older that he was in the las memory, but his eyes were still glassy. He seemed to be in the middle of doing something when he stopped, his expression held confusion, and his eyes lingered on the rumpled bed.

He turned and looked around the room, but familiarity did not reach his features. The door of the room opened, and a cleaner, rounder,Merope appeared, wearing a purple dress covered with large white daisies.

"Tom?" she asked softly. She looked on edge and very nervous. Tom struggled for a second, trying to place a name on the girl. She was clearly the girl from the shack. He recalled her handing him a drink.

"Merope?" he asked unsurely. She nodded her head smiling and made to walk towards him when he demanded, "Where is this place? Why am I here? With you?"

She stopped in her steps. "We're married." She insisted showing him the small gold band on her finger. You love me," she said almost pleadingly.

Tom looked as though her were trapped in a nightmare, his eyes wide He made to leave.

"No, you promised you would stay here with me!" She yelled her voice trembling. You said you couldn't live without me!" She said, throwing herself at him as he neared the door.

Tom watched as his father's eyes widened.

"You said you wanted to start our family together! You w-were so ha-happy, and you s-said you want-t-ted our son!"

Tom Sr. was holding Merope off of him by her arms, trying to look away from those awful, crying eyes.

"I never said that!" Tom Sr. insisted, towering over her. "I would never! I love someone else!"

Merope howled through her tears.

"I can't possibly be married to you! I never loved you!" Merope made a strangled noise and dropped to her knees sobbing into her hands."

Tom Sr. stared helplessly. Confused, incredulous, scared. He ran his hands through his dark wavy locks. One. Twice. Merope's sobs and sniffle filled the room and he slowly backed up to the door. Without a second glance, he was out the door.

Hermione was sniffling. Merlin, was she crying? The room dissolved.

"Jean?" Tom asked uncertainly.

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes moist and she realized that she still held Tom's arm. She let go quickly, as though his touch burned her. The sound of rain filled their ears, and they were standing on the porch of riddle manor. Tom's father was sopping wet and . Riddle reached out to push the door open, but before he could touch it, it was thrown open. A younger Mary Riddle stood at the door taking in the sight of her boy.

"You came back?"

"I don't remember leaving."

Mary Riddle's eyes widened. Tom's father collapsed on the porch.

"Thomas!" she yelled shrilly, "Thomas, come quick!" she knelt down, wiping her son's hair aback for his face and wiping the rain from his face and neck with a handkerchief she retrieved from her pocket.

Thomas Riddle appeared in the doorway and another man, carrying an umbrella and wearing sloshers hurried up the porch steps to join them.

"Frank, fetch the doctor! And you'll be quick about it! Please!"

Frank Bryce? Hermione wondered as the young man set out into the rain.

"Oh, Thomas! he, he said he can't remember! And-and then he collapsed!I-"

"Mary darling, calm down," said Thomas as he bent down to help his son up. Draping his son's arm over his shoulder, he hauled him into the living room. Mary closed the door slightly then hurried in after her two boys. Tom and Hermione followed them into the living room. Thomas lay his son out on the longest sofa, and Mart went to fetch dry clothes. Tom's eyes opened and he shivered.

"Father? I don't understand. I, I woke up and I was in this room with, with that woman! From the Gaunt's shack." he said coughing lightly.

"You don't remember anything at all, son?" Thomas asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"No. Where is my Cecilia? Can I see he?" Tom Sr. moaned.

Mary Riddle had appeared in the room and made a strangled noise. "Oh you wretched boy!" she cried as she wrapped a towel around her son."Why would say that?"

"Son," said Tom's father, "the poor girl's father died. She's an orphan now. She came around to see you, month ago, but you wouldn't give her the time of day. Said you were in love with that Merope girl. That you wanted her for you wife. It broke poor Cecilia's heart. She's living in Windsor with her aunt.

Tom Sr.'s eyes had been wide the whole story, but now they were absolutely horrified at what he could not remember doing. His head fell back onto the cushions and he groaned. His face was pained and he closed his eyes falling back into unconsciousness. Now Hermione knew this was the last memory. She look back at Tom, but now he did not display any emotions. She took his hand and they left the memory. The pattering of rain echoing in their ears.


	24. Headmaster Riddle

Tom landed back in his bed, sitting over the covers and Hermione, neatly in his chair. They said nothing for a long time, then, breaking the silence, Hermione cleared and throat and using her wand, restored the silver memories into their vials. She carefully levitated them into her beaded bag, along with the pensieve. With her bag in her pocket and her wand in her holster, exhaled deep breath.

"I guess you have lot to think about," she tried.

Tom didn't respond, and she wasn't going to pry, so she stood to leave.

"Where are you going?" he blurted, turning his face to meet hers.

What could she say? "Haven't we been over this before?"

"It's christmas holiday. Where could you possibly need to be?" he said with a certain edge in his voice that she couldn't understand.

The future. She wanted to see if it had changed now that he knew the truth. It must have! Ignoring his question, she faked the biggest smile she could manage. "Good night, Tom." With that, she turned and left his room.

Then it was silent. Annoyed at the her, and feeling restless, he got up and followed her. He entered the dark and very much empty hall. He was making his way to the stairs when the door to his right slid open.

"Tom, I thought I'd heard something," his grandmother sniffed, her pale blonde haired slightly ruffled as she wrapped her robe more tightly around herself. "What are you doing, walking about at this hour?"

After quickly assuring her that he simply awoke desiring a glass of water, he continued on his way downstairs.

. . .

Hermione reached the frozen air outside and stepped down the porch. Adrenaline rushed through her. How could Tom possibly hold a grudge against his family after viewing those memories? No, it wasn't possible that he still could be. The future _must_ of changed, she was sure. And she had to see it. Her hand reached for her necklace when a flash of _something_ caught her eye.

Her head snapped towards the hedgerows, her wand already in her hands. She heard footsteps on the porch. She turned her head to see Tom leaning forwards, his forearms crossed over the railing. Slowly, she checked back at the hedgerows, but nothing seemed out of place.

Goodness, she had gotten twitchy. Stowing her wand away, she walked up to the railing and looked up at Tom on the porch. She blew out a deep breath, shifting a lock of hair from her face.

"Yes,Tom?"

Tom found himself not wanting Hermione to leave, oddly enough. He knew he would not be able to sleep, what with all these new developments. It was too much, much too soon for him to process, to dissect and analyze fully.

"Why do you visit me?"

Hermione stared blankly.

"Why have you always visited, Jean?"

Hermione bit her tongue. She so wanted to scream it at him. That she was trying to stop him from winning in the future. From becoming something less than human and destroying the world in his path to immortality. From ruining her future.

"You haven't worn a cloak," she muttered.

His face _was_ flushed and his ears tinged red from the cold.

"You should be in bed."

Tom ignored her condescending remark. "I won't sleep a wink," he informed her.

"Good night,Tom." He nodded his head and with a soft pop, she apparated away.

Standing In the fork in the road at the post that lead to Lttle Hangleton and Great Hangleton, Hermione pulled out her necklace. Alone in fields of snow, she disappeared from 1943.

…

September 4, 1994

Oh merlin, that sensation. She was flying backwards very fast, her ears were pounding- and then she crumpled to her feet, her back meeting a solid wall. Her head pounded and her vision blurred with moisture. _Breathe._ In and out. I wasn't nearly as bad as before. In and out, she told herself as she fought to compose herself. But it still felt as though the floor was... moving? She frowned. The floor _was_ moving. But.. she was in... a bathroom stall? Just then a whistle sounded. A train!

Standing up on wobbly legs, she stood to reach the door handle. Her robe sleeve fell past her hand and she rolled it back with her other hand that too was swamped in black fabric, then slid the latch to unlock the door. She stumbled in her overly large boots to the wall that held a row of sinks and mirrors. She caught a glimpse of herself and gasped. What on earth?

She leaned closer to the mirror, patting down her face. She was a child!

Her brain informed her that she was entering her fourth year, memories of this life were slowly filling into her brain. Eyes wide, she looked down to look at her raised forearm. Pulling up the sleeve... mudblood. That shouldn't be there, the logical part of her brain registered. She tugged on the Neckline of her now oversized shirt to see if her scar was also still-

"Hermione!"

she released her grip on the fabric and spun around, "Ginny! Thank Merlin you're here, I'm so-"

"Hermione, you have to hurry! Why haven't you changed yet? We've almost reached Hogwarts!"

The young redhead informed her, while fetching a fallen uniform lying outside the stall she had exited. Hermione did not protest as the bundle was shoved in her arms and she was herded into the a stall. She changed into her uniform, placing her clothes that were now too large into her beaded bag. She paused at a pale pink scar across her upper thigh. When had she gotten that? An image flashed in her mind, a winter skiing trip in France gone wrong.

She reached for the black school robe and was about to shrug in on when she caught the green and silver emblem stitched onto the breast of the robe. Raising her voice over Ginny's who was still babbling on, she exited the stall, holding the robe in her hands.

"Ginny, These aren't my r- " She stopped mid sentence.

Slytherin's crest.

On Ginny's robes.

"Of course they are, " GInny piped in, her blue eyes large and concerned. "They're the ones from your trunk. I saw you get them!" she exclaimed.

Hermione lost focus for a moment. Well, goodness, Ginny was just so... young.

Hermione deftly swung the robe on, muttering distractedly, "Of course its mine. I haven't the slightest what I was thinking."

Ginny for her part, did not look entirely convinced, however, she did not push the matter and she energetically placed her arm in Hermione's, smiling excitedly as she lead them out into the train's corridors. They hadn't tread very far over the red carpeted aisles when they nearly collided with a tall boy dawning his silver prefect badge.

"Oh! Hermione, I'm terribly sorry. Are you alright?"

Hermione could only nod simply in response as she looked upon a bashfully smiling Cedric Diggory. Her eyes trailed down to his chest where she found next to his prefect badge, his Slytherin crest. It appeared that it wasn't only chance that Ginny and herself were sorted into Slytherin.

"And hello, Ginny," he added with a smile that had the poor girl blushing crimson. "Say,did you happen to come from the girl's bathroom? Was Cho in there?"

"We didn't see her," replied Ginny.

For Hermione the rest of the conversation was drowned out, for at that moment, compartment doors began sliding open and students dressed impeccably in their uniforms began filing out and off the train. On every robe was the crest of Slytherin.

She had made a mistake. The robes made it blaringly obvious. A dark mass of unease was slowly unfurling in the pit of her stomach. She felt her feet drag beneath her as she was pulled alongside Ginny with the crowd out into Hogsmeade Station. Hermione nodded her head accordingly as Ginny chattered away.

"Oi! Hermione! GInny!" cried a boyish voice she instantly recognized. Her eyes darted to the source. Standing beside one of the horseless carriages, was a waving Ron Weasley. "Hermione, lets go," she distantly heard Ginny say beside her, but Hermione was already darting through the crowd towards her best friend.

"Ron!" she exclaimed in half awe as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her. Oh dear, her eyes weren't watering were they? She felt Ron awkwardly patting her back so she quickly released him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Standing back she assesed him head to toe. The tips of his ears were tinged read. and he was blushing the famous Weasley red. Her grin, impossibly, widened. Oh how she had missed him! It didn't hurt that he appeared in a right better condition than when she had last seen him. Too slender, haggard and bruised.

Ginny finally appeared and was giving Hermione an odd look, her eyebrows raise curiously.

"ER... you and Ginny never came back to the compartment after you left to change." Rons said awkwardly. His flush finally began to fade.

Ginny spoke up saying," Hermione had a bit of trouble with her robes. We ran into Cedric on our way back." Ron scowled and Hermione, for the life of her could not figure out why.

"He's quite smart, Cedric," trilled a light dreamy voice. "And nice. He helped me find my shoes last year..."

Hermione turned to face Luna and an embarrassed looking Neville Longbottom behind her. So in this future, she had befriended Luna before her 5th year. This future didn't really _seem_ so bad. Her eyes darted to the crests on Luna's and then Neville's robes. She heard Ron mutter something like, "Pompous git," before Neville hastily interfered.

"We should start up to the castle now,"

Indeed, most of the other carriages had already headed towards Hogwarts. They piled in, Hermione in between Luna and Ron on one side, Neville and Ginny on the other. As the carriage started up the path, Luna unfolder her quibbler and began to read it upside down. She caught Neville's eye and they shared a smile. She felt Ron rummage beside her.

"Chocolate frog?"

She turned to see him pulling out the box from his pocket. "Thanks," she muttered and Neville struck up a conversation with Ron.

Turning the box over in her hand, she opened shiny purple box and curiously reached inside. she plucked up the frog shaped chocolate and let it melt in her mouth. She picked up the card. It showed a man wearing horn rimmed oblong glassed, with a straight, aristocratic nose, dark wavy hair that was silvering faintly around the sides, and gray eyes staring straight at her. She uneasily turned over her card and read:

TOM RIDDLE

Currently deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Riddle is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1950, the discoveries of the Hogwarts Founders Lost Artifacts, and his work on revising the ministry with his partner, Abraxas Malfoy. Professor Riddle enjoys traveling and Academia.

"You've got Tom Riddle!" Ron suddenly exclaimed from over her shoulder. Luna peered over her Quibbler curiously. "Oh, those are extremely rare! Father wrote an article..."

Ginny laughed at the look on Ron's face. "Ron's got to have about 500 chocolate frog cards," she started.

"And I've never had a Tom Riddle card! I'm missing Agrippa a well..."


	25. Graveyard Admissions

_January 1, 1944_

A knock on the door.

"Son?"

Tom did not reply. No, he wrapped himself further in his warm blankets.

"Tom, hadn't you ought to get up now?" came his father's muffled voice through the door.

Given once again no response, Tom Senior daringly proceeded to open his son's door. Crossing the room with sure steps to the boy's bedside, he prodded and poked the lump of blankets until his son's face was revealed, haloed by swaths of green.

Sleepily glaring at his father, Tom asked, "Do you have any idea what today is?" before turning over back under his covers.

"We both know very well what day it is, Tom," his father said indulgently. "But you will be downstairs and presentable in fifteen minutes, understood?"

Tom's father then began to retreat. "Happy Birthday, son," he said before closing the door behind him.

Wide awake now, Tom rolled out of bed and seized his wand off of his side table drawer, pointed it at his mussed bed and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Although it was only around a foot away, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing his bed sheets and pillows lift into the air and land neatly back on his bed. Reveling in the removal of his trace, Tom sent his possessions flying around the room. Tom also turned the grey nightshirt he was wearing bright green and, purely for the pleasure of it, cast and engorgement charm to puffy pillows. Satisfied and with a slight smirk on his lips, he entered into his bathroom, a trail of day clothing floating behind him.

Shortly later, Tom following the scent of food, arrived in the dining room and found a pile of presents waiting on the far end of the long oak table and white carnations and snowdrops arranged in crystal vases covering every flat surface. Tom's family sat chatting lightly when he walked in, an impressive display of breakfast foods spread in front of them.

Eggs, sausage links, black and yorkshire pudding, English bacon, breakfast potato, croissants and assorted jams, baked beans, sliced fruits, and pie.

"Happy seventeenth, Tom," Mrs. Riddle said, smiling at Tom.

"Those are our presents on tops," Thomas Riddle said as he gestured at the rather large stack of presents. "The others came by owl. Quite many,really," he added and clapped Tom's shoulder fondly when his grandson sat in the chair beside him.

As the family began to eat Tom's Birthday breakfast, Tom wondered how Mrs. Bryce had been able to get her hands on the fruits and meats, what with the Muggle Ministry of Food rationing England's food supply due to The World War.

The Riddle's were nearly finished eating when Tom Sr. Cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention.

"Tom, you and I are going to London to spend the day."

Tom's brow furrowed in confusion, and it only deepened when he saw his grandparents did not seem surprised by the news. "London? Why?"

"No particular reason," his father said just a tad too rushed, "We'll make a day of it! Have a cuppa, look around the shops," he added more surely.

Although Tom felt there was something more to this trip, that there was something being kept from him, his father seemed adamant that they would be spending the day in cold London. So, he simply nodded and said, "Alright," and thanked his Family for the _lovely_ breakfast and gifts. He drew his wand from his trouser pocket and vanished the gifts into his room, drawing three separate reactions.

His father flinched ever so slightly while his grandmother took an expression of surprise and his grandfather, wonder.

"I had thought you were naught to do tricks outside of your school," Mary Riddle put in first.

It was Tom's father who answered, "Tom is seventeen. He is of legal age by wizarding standards, Mother, they do things a bit differently than we do."

"Seventeen? How preposterous," Mary Riddle said.

Tom's father shrugged at his mother and turning to his son said, "You'd best go up now and get ready, we'll be leaving soon."

Tom stood and went up to his room as advised. He really did not want to go to London. What he really wanted to know was what his father was planning, he thought as he entered his room. He had, a niggling feeling. Well, at least he had his magic. Yes, A warming charm would be in order, he would cast one in his father's car, he thought as he dressed in warmer clothes.

. . .

How had they end up here? They had gotten their cuppa in a small tea parlor and they had walked the main streets of London, weaving in and out of various shops. Tom had even bought a few books. And Now? This couldn't be happening, Tom kept telling himself. His stomach felt queasy, he couldn't possibly ignore it. It felt very, very wrong. So he wiped his face of all emotions.

"Tom?" His father stood beside him at the black, iron wrought gate of the cemetery. Both stood similarly dressed with scarves wrapped tightly around their necks and gloved hands buried deep in their jacket pockets. Tom Sr. shuffled his patent leather boots in the thin layer of snow covering dead grass.

"Now you know why I brought you to London." When Tom did not respond, Tom Sr. elaborated, "M- Your mother is buried here." After his talk with Hermione, Tom Sr. knew this visit would be necessary. That he owed at least this much to... his deceased wife.

So after some afternoons spent in deep thought and some lengthy discussions with his own parents, he steeled enough nerve to call the matron of Wool's orphanage. And by no means did Mrs. Cole spare a single detail of that New Years night. However, on a lighter note, he discovered, bless that woman, 17 years ago, she had arranged for a priest to give Merope her last rites and an undertaker to remover her body at first light. Merope had escaped the fate of a paupers grave and he was told she was given a simple burial and headstone.

"I'm not exactly sure _where_, but-"

His son had started moving on his own and the gate, as if on its own accord, swung slowly open, allowing Tom through. Rather curious, Tom Sr. Followed his son into the cemetery, past rows of graves, some littered with withering flowers. It was a fairly small cemetery, so it did not take long before he halted abruptly behind his son. Looking around Tom, he stepped closer to see the little gravestone.

Mrs. Riddle

Mother

D. 31 December, 1926

"I've never been here, before," Tom conceded to his father softly. "Jean. She showed me, you know, your memories."

"What do you make of it, son?"

_I don't know what to_, was what he wanted to say. "Why couldn't you tell me? There was always something... It never made sense. Not before." Abruptly he turned to face his father. "Why are we here?" he demanded.

"Well, I owe it to her, don't I?" he said truthfully.

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, I- I left."

And Tom could see it was killing his father to say it.

"Not willingly."

"True," he sighed, "But I _did_ know that I was married. I had responsibilities. I, at the very least, have _bothered _to know what was made of her. I'm also doing this for myself. Bringing you here, letting you into my memories, I gain from this too."

"How?" was all Tom could say.

"You deserve something from your mother. To know that she loved you-"

"She wouldn't stay alive for me," Tom interjected. "She didn't raise her wand to save her own life. She had a choice! She chose in death in spite of a son who needed-" He cut himself off sharply, he had said more than he meant to.

"Yes," his father agreed, "But, She was greatly weakened, wouldn't you imagine? And, I can't say I believe she could have had that kind of courage. Not where she came from."

Then, "And I would think that _you_ of all people should show her some respect or be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Do witches and, and wizards not die too?"

Those words rang in Tom's ears.

"Will you disgrace your own mother, and dismiss her so easily?" He said scolding.

"Why do _you_ care so suddenly? You can barely stand to hear her name." Tom said coldly. "She took advantage of you." _Because you were weak_.

They stood at a stalemate for some moments. What could Tom Sr. say to his son? It was all true, and yet...

He cast his eyes down, he couldn't look at his son. "I just wanted," he exhaled, then tried again, "I just want for you to have a mother. Life was rather cruel to M- Merope. The least she deserved was a son who loved her back." Still unable to look at his son, he turned and left his son at the grave.

Tom was left alone. And he was furious. How dare he turn his back! Did his father not know that he had the _power_ to end his existence-

Immediately he regretted the thought that so smoothly passed through his mind. He, He hadn't meant it and it sobered him immediately. He had never had a serious argument with his father. How has this happened? How had things spiraled this way so quickly? It was unexpected, and Tom did not like surprises. Especially ones that were not tipped in his favor. He had lost control.

Did he love his mother? The right answer would be, of course I love my mother! So why couldn't he say it? _Because you're not normal._ Tom knew he was d_ifferent. _He was _special._

He loved his father though. Didn't he? He turned to leave. He could... he could admit when he was wrong.

As he left, something made him slow his steps. Made him turn to face his mother's grave. Shouldn't he... say something? Do something? Leave some flowers perhaps? His hand wandered to his pocket and he clenched his wand tightly. Maybe he could...

-No. He wouldn't. His mother was weak. and he didn't owe her anything. She had left him, whereas his father, at least, had not abandoned him completely. He swiftly continued walking back through the graveyard to the car. He ignored the horrible, horrible feeling like he was doing something very wrong, that was tearing at his insides and making his heart beat just a little faster. He quickened his pace, passing through the cemetery gate, wanting nothing to do with the place, and did not stop until he reached his father.

It was a silent drive home.


	26. It's Harold

Hermione paused at the pair of double doors leading into the great hall.

"Aren't you coming?" Ron asked, turning to look back at her.

"I'll catch up later," she said and Ron shrugged, walking off with Neville and Ginny.

The hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid air over seven tables, one empty, where the rest of the students were sitting according to their year. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. The hundreds of faces looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candle light. Dotted here and there among the students, ghost shone misty silver. A velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the great hall didn't simply open to the heavens.

At the top of hall was another longer table where the teachers were sitting. Looking at the High Table properly, she frowned when she saw Hagrid was absent from the staff. _Hagrid never taught here, nor had he been groundskeeper during her time here_. Her lips pursed into a thin line and she was about to continue her observations of the High table when a light voice interrupted her, drawing her attention momentarily away. Behind her, she saw Luna.

"Did something happen during summer hols, Hermione? You look terrible, you know."

"I -what? How-,"

"Oh, just your expression," she said.

Hermione stared at the wide eyed, baby faced girl who was peering sympathetically back at her through enormous colored spectacles.

"Strange," Luna sighed dreamily, pushing back her straggly blonde locks. "Don't worry, I won't say anything if you don't want me to," she said before drifting through the double doors to sit beside Ginny at the third year's table.

Left in a daze, Hermione followed the lingering students entering the great hall and made her way to the fourth year's table. She searched the table, looking to find Ron and Neville. Or maybe even Harry. Where was he anyways?

The seating arrangement was quite odd to Hermione, seeing the Gryffindors of her year mixed with Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Noticing most students were already seated, at the nearest empty spot of bench she tapped the shoulder of a pale boy with immaculate raven hair.

"Is this seat taken?" She did not wait for an answer and quickly sat as Severus Snape, _deputy Headmaster,_ entered the great Hall with first years in tow. The hall silenced, aside from the clicking of Professor Snape's boots and the nervous shuffling of first years who hurried to form a line. Professor Snape abruptly turned his back to the hall, robes swishing at his feet. Clearing his throat, he unrolled a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will go and sit at the first year's table. Ackerley, Stewart!"

_That was all?_ Hermione thought incredulously.

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to toe, skirting around the professor, who sneered unkindly at the display, to sit at the first year table.

_Well, that was anti climatic_. _No sorting ceremony, or sorting hat's song?_

"Baddock, Malcolm!" Professor Snape called out. She had an urge to go up to him and dissect his brain. After the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry and Hermione had fled back to headquarters, Harry had told her Snape's true allegiance. Had shown her his memories. And she had cried after the shock of the Prince's tale had been conceived. Severus Snape was Hogwarts dueling professor in this timeline, she could remember an intense physical workload.

_What else had changed?_ Shifting slightly, she looked up to the staff table for a closer inspection.

Professor McGonagall sat straight, composed as ever with dignity. Hermione was surprised to see the divination teacher, professor Trelawney; She rarely left her tower room. She looked as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size by her spectacles. To Hermione's knowledge of this timeline, she had long dropped the class; not that it mattered, she would not be staying here long enough to endure more classes. Trelawney's great beacon like eyes swiveled in her direction. She hastily looked away.

Tiny little professor Flitwick, the charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was an empty seat, presumably Professor Snape's. Hermione spotted Professor Vector, her Arithmancy professor and Babbling, Binns, Grubby-plank, who she assumed had replaced Hagrid in the care of magical creatures post. Charity burbage, the muggle studies teacher was most noticeably absent. They did not bother with it here. Hermione observed Horace Slughorn, the potions professor, eying the first years with interest as their name were called out..

Sitting center of the table was the Headmaster and directly between him and Snape's empty stool,sat Tom Riddle. As the chocolate frog card had read, Defence against the dark arts 's hair had silvered at the side and his eyes had sharpened. He had soft lines to his face that had never existed to Hermione before, and he sat taller than she had ever seen him.

He had not seemed to age drastically.

But that didn't mean that he hadn't created horcruxes in this timeline or even taken measures to acquire the sorcerer's stone. Did he still seek immortality, or was he satiated with great power alone?

She had, virtually no knowledge of what Tom really getting up to in this timeline. And why should she? She was only a 14 year old student, a bushy haired know-it-all. If he had ever suspected Hermione Granger of being Jean Grant, he had left no sign of it, as far as she could recall.

She tore her eyes from Tom, in time to see tiny Dennis Creevey staggering toward his table, whispering shrilly to his brother- who sat a fair distance across the hall, "Colin, I fell in!" as he threw himself into his seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabb-,"

His eyes grew wide and he was silenced by a particularly nasty glare from Professor Snape, before he continued on calling names.

"Cool!" Colin mouthed excitedly back at his brother, giving him a thumbs up. Hermione grinned broadly when she met eyes with Ginny, who sat with Collin and Luna, suppressing a giggle.

The introduction ceremony continued with boys and girls, varying in degrees of fright on their faces, skirting one by one around the Surly Professor.

"Oi, hurry up," Hermione heard Ron moan. Coming from down the end of the table, Hermione spotted Ron and Neville, seated with a group of Gryffindors from her year in the original time line. Harry wasn't with them.

The Bloody Baron glided through Ron causing him to yelp. "Now Weasley, the Introduction ceremony is much more important than food."

"'course it is, if you're dead," Ron snapped back as "McDonald, Natalie," joined the first year table.

Finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" the ceremony ended. Snape vanished the scroll and ascended to the High Table.

The headmaster had gotten to his feet. Turning his head, scanning the students, he opened his arms wide in a gesture of welcome.

"To our new students, welcome. To our old students, welcome back. Another year of magical education awaits you! It will be of vital importance as the magical talent and ancient skills you were born with may come to nothing if not nurtured and carefully honed. We offer you, and encourage you, to explore the vast knowledge and expertise provided within these walls to you. You will succeed. If you prove ambitious enough. Now, with that in mind, Let the feast begin!"

The hall erupted with noise as the Headmaster sat and empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.

"Ah, 'ats be'er" said Ron, his mouth full of mashed potato, from down the table.

"Disgusting." Surprised, and a bit put out at the exclamation, Hermione turned to look at her end of the table.

A pale boy with a pointed face and white blonde hair watched Ron with his lip curled. Hermione was unsurprised to discover the comment had come from Draco Malfoy. Sensing her attention, his silvery blue eyes zeroed in on her. Hermione tensed, though only slightly and stared determinedly back at him.

"Finally decided to ditch them, have you?" Hermione fought back the urge to look behind her and check if Draco wasn't really talking to her.

Confused, she said, "I'm sorry, what?"

"The riffraff. Finally figured out that they weren't any good for you? The idiot ginger Weasel and the great lump Longbottom."

This earned a few snickers from Crabbe and Goyle, who flanked his sides. Hermione was now realising that she seemed to be in 'slytherin' territory of the fourth year table.

"Ron is not an Idiot! And Neville is worth twelve of you!" Hermione said.

She made to leave when she bumped the boy next to her. Before she could go though, with seeker-like reflexes, the pale boy grabbed her wrist.

"That was very rude," The voice said smoothly. "I haven't heard an apology yet."

"-Harry?" She exclaimed wide eyed.

There were differences, no glasses for one, but sure enough, the green, almond shaped eyes were indeed Harry's. The untidy hair she was used to was neatly combed over, not a strand of hair out of place. How on earth had he managed that? His scar was absent as well.

"It's Harold," he said but she could barely registered it. _Harold. Not Harry_.

Harold James Potter's parent had died when he was a baby. Sirius black, mass murderer had been arrested and imprisoned for the death of Lily and James potter. But like an angel, Tom Riddle had swooped in and taken Harry from the ruins, and _graciously_, raised him as his own

"Granger!"

"Oh. Uh-." she stood and left towards the other end of the table feeling light headed, leaving without a response. Or an apology.

She did not see Pansy lean across the table, and hear her whisper to Draco, "I don't care if Harold thinks she could be a powerful witch. She's still only a mudblood."

"Father was right, Mudblood magic is weak and they don't know what's best for them. They shouldn't be allowed into Hogwarts, let alone the wizarding world."

This gained a general consensus of agreement; Nods and "right you are,"s. Harry said nothing in her defence. But he did not say a word against her either. He merely looked on as the gang trumpeted, his eyes sharp.

Meanwhile, Hermione was piecing together this timeline. Tom had heard of the prophecy and this time around, instead of killing Harry, he had decided to raise him as his own, ensuring that Harry would not betray him. And How convenient for Tom, the Potter's had a close friend who could easily be framed for the murder. And now Harry was merely this cruel boy and merlin, this timeline was turning horrendously.

Tom had full control of the British Ministry, directing the minister, Abraxas Malfoy's, every move. And the Hogwarts Headmaster was merely a pawn.

Anything that did not interest Tom, he clearly had not bothered with at all. Squibs had no place in the wizarding world. Magical creatures rights were non- existent. The muggle blood discrimination was still prominent, if only to appease his pure blood followers. The knights of Walpurgis acted as the ministry board of governors. Tom essentially had complete reign over the British wizarding world.

And none were the wiser.

Ron slid down the bench making room for Hermione.

"What were you doing there?" Lavender asked her.

"She had to sit somewhere, the introduction ceremony was starting!" Ron defended her, then wolfed down his pot roast.

"Did they give you any trouble?" Neville asked concerned.

Hermione shook her head at Neville across from her who sat next to Hannah Abbott. A plate appeared before her and she piled her food, and though she was still quite disturbed, thoughtfully bit in. Before she left this future, she would visit Dumbledore. Questions consumed much of her thoughts.

_Why was dumbledore in Azkaban? and why had Tom Defeated Grindelwald?_


	27. Into The Mirror

September 4, 1994

Hermione paced quickly towards the room of requirements. Quietly, she skirted around moonlit window, staying safely covered in the shadows. It wouldn't do to be caught after hours. On the first day back, no less! Passing the tapestry of dancing trolls, she reached the bare stretch of wall and paced back and forth in front of it. A door materialized. Large and wooden, familiar.

She gave one last glance at the empty corridor over her shoulder before pushing against the door and entering the room. It was the large stone hall that Dumbledore's Army had used to practice in during her fifth year. She sat down on the smooth, cold floor legs crossed and pulled out her beaded bag from her night robes. She rummaged through it, various items grazing her hand until she felt cool sharp shards. She pulled out twin mirrors. Or what was left of them anyways.

She needed to get one to Headmaster Dumbledore. She untucked her wand to attempt to vanish it, but it disappeared before she could cast her spell. Curious, she set on the floor beside her and used both hands to raise the glass in front of her. She saw large brown eyes and bushy hair, as well as teeth that were quite larger than the average. _Strange. _ She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, waiting for _something_ to appear in the mirror. The room of requirement must have had the ability to transport the glass since it had disappeared.

The image changed, and excited, she fumbled up to rest on her knees. She caught a blurry flash of blue and the image flashed away just as quickly as it had come. As though someone on the other end was fumbling with it.

"Hello?" she called, facing the mirror more towards her. The fumbling ceased and she could see Azkaban prison garb and then, finally, a weary and wrinkled face. It was composed with not a twinkle of light in Dumbledore's dull blue eyes. "Headm-, Albus Dumbledore?" she asked with a slight tone of disbelief.

How could this be him? How could he be in Azkaban? Surely, if he wanted to, Dumbledore should be able to escape. He was the greatest wizard in the world! Dumbledore squinted and looked more closely into the mirror.

There was no answer, the man simply blinked and his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. He wondered if this were really happening.

"That is I," she heard him speak, his voice weak and tired. "Forgive me, who are you?"

"I'm Hermione Granger, Sir. I have some questions to ask you, then I must leave. Why are you in Azkaban? Why haven't you escaped yet? Why was Tom Riddle the one to defeat Grindelwald?

"I may answer your questions, if you answer mine first," Dumbledore replied.

The request seemed reasonable. She nodded in agreement. "Go on."

"Why did you proceed to contact me for the answers to questions that a short trip to a library could provide with? You would discover that I am in Azkaban for my early dabblings in the dark arts and for conspiring with G-G ellert Grindelwald. As for your other questions, Azkaban is well known to be inescapable. And Tom Riddle is 'the greatest wizard of his generation'. He challenged the threatening dark lord and ended his reign."

Hermione lifted a skeptical brow. "You and I both know that you could escape your chains if you wished to. If anyone could escape this prison, it would be you. And, yes, you may have dabbled in the dark arts when you were younger, but you had nothing to do with Gellert's Riddle being noble and selfless? Has a knack destroying conquering dark lords, does he? He only cares about himself. Why did he really do it?"

Then dropping the tone of disbelief she asked softly, "Please sir, I've looked at the texts books. They're all the same, making out Tom to be some sort of defending Hero. You may be the only person who knows why the future turned out the way it did. I need to know what really happened." _So I can change it._

There was silence for a moment , and then, something she was not at all expecting to hear, "Are you perhaps the time traveler I had crossed paths with in the Hogwarts Library in say, was it, 1938? "

"-that was you?" Hermione asked surprised, recalling that night when she had fled through time so as not to be discovered.

"Ah. So you are." He squinted his eye and peered at the mirror and held it higher to observe her more clearly. "I thought you did look rather familiar. Forgive me, it was quite hard to tell without my glasses." he said, his voice trailing off, "but surely you were not so young when I had glimpsed you?"

"The time turner you gave me is a unique one. When I use it to travel to a point in my own 'past' and I am also assuming, 'future', I slip into the consciousness of myself of that time line. At least, that is what I believe happens. I would think that only the Albus Dumbledore of _my_ original timeline can truly know the mechanics and working of the time turner. But yes, I am not quite this young.

"I see. And, you say that _I_ gave you this time turner?"

"Yes, sir. well, technically. In my original timeline, Tom Riddle is The dark Lord Voldemort. His reign was even more terrible than that of Grindelwald, if you can imagine. England, no, the whole of _Europe,_ was under his complete control near the end and the wizard prophesied to end him died. I- I didn't know what to do. Before Harry died, before the Battle of Hogwarts, I had searched your office and I found the time turner. There was a letter with it. 'I made this with the strictest intentions of 'fixing mistakes'. Clearly, I'm failing. No matter how many 'mistakes' I seem to fix, how many times I go back to see him, each future is just as bleak as the last."

She felt herself grow more frustrated with each word.

"And I I can't understand why this isn't working! He's out of the orphanage, he had a family, money, the whole of Hogwarts was wrapped around his finger. As far as he's concerned, his mother never abandoned him either!"

She exhaled loudly. "I don't know," she muttered, "But I'm going back again. I need to know how Tom became involved with Grindelwald, so I can prevent it from happening. Something I did- or something I didn't do, caused this to happen. "

"Tom never crossed paths with Gellert in your original time line? Tom never defeated him?" Dumbledore asked surprised.

"No, never. He didn't even realize, at least until much later on, that _you_ were the one to defeat Grindelwald."

Dumbledore inhaled sharply. "I? I defeated Grindelwald?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, and every textbook and every chocolate frog card with your name says so."

"The future, then, has drastically changed." he murmured quietly to himself in deep thought.

Hermione flushed, "I can go back and change it! This will have never happened!" she tried weakly to defend herself.

"Oh dear, I was not accusing you. I do believe the task of fixing the future will take much trial and error. Tom is, after all, quite a complicated being.

I will tell you what I can."

. . .

Gellert Grindelwald. He stood tall, watching with delight on his face and a certain gleam in his eyes. Flashes of color, the sound of far away explosions and thuds, yelling and screaming. Tremendous leaps of crimson and gold flames caught his attention and he watched curiously as the wall of fire permanently took down an army of his red cloaked soldiers. The flames dispersed, but left in the center of scorched ground was a wizard in pale blue robes. Rage shone on the man's aged face and locks of his silvering auburn crackled fiercely. Albus Dumbledore! This was.. unexpected. England's most renowned wizard had finally decided to make his appearance. To be honest, Gellert had expected Albus to act sooner. But of course, these things could not be helped. His chuckling now scaled to a full on crow of laughter. And in a blink of an eye, he apparated straight into the thick of things.

. . .

He had waited for this day to come. It was with a graceful ease that he strode towards the Darklord. Curses seemed not able to reach his hooded figure; they neatly skimmed around him. Grindelwald was currently in quite the spectacular duel, against whom, he did not care. He pushed past the opponent, harshly and uncaring, knocking the man's shoulder, rendering his red curse useless as it veered off course and onto moist soil. Fearlessly, he continued on his path, in direct line of Grindelwald. Gold light erupted from Grindelwald's wand, aimed at the wizard robed in blue behind him.

So he was being ignored. Tom Riddle did not appreciate this. With skilled movements of his yew wand, black shadows gathered in a misty shield that towered before him, swallowing Grindelwald's golden curse. The mist dissipated and Tom knew he had effectively gained the darklord's notice.

His lip curled nastily and in a second he closed the space between them. "Gellert Grindelwald," Tom spoke the name delicately, emphasizing each syllable. "I have been meaning to talk with you for quite some time now. However, you have proven quite difficult to track down."

Grindelwald appeared to be only half listening, as he prodded the blue shimmering shield surrounding them, with his wand, fascinated.

"What curse is this? I have never seen vone like it," he said watching with glee as some of his own men, attempting to free their lord, ran at it when their curses simply bounced off it, and were flown into the air. Flashes of color bounced off the walls of the dome and muffled shouts and explosions were heard through the shield.

"Tell Me," he said, turning to face his captor, "It is an invention of your own?"

Tom did not deign to answer Grindelwald's questions, ignoring them along with the wizards ridiculous pout completely, saying, "Do you know the name, Jean Grant?"

"You vill not answer my question and your are not introducing yourself? How rude."

Tom removed his hood revealing himself to the wizard whom he had sought after for many years. "Of course, you must excuse me, _I_ am Tom Riddle."

Grindelwald began to twiddle his wand with his hands, his eyes downcast. "I am hoping that you did not expect such a reaction. I am afraid that I have never heard such a name," he said quietly meeting Tom's gaze.

"All in good Time," Tom responded flippantly.

"Vhat is it you are vanting vith me, _Tom Riddle_? You see, you do not have much time left. Do you see that man," he gestured behind Tom, to the opponent he had previously been engaged in with a duel. "You do not recognize him? He is also english. Right now hie is vorking to break your curse."

"I have time enough," Tom said, his wand still aimed at Grindelwald. "Jean Grant. She dissapeared five years ago, and she was working for _you."_

"I do not recognize that name. No vomen who I should be avare of vorked in my higher command. If this girl disappeared years ago, she is dead. Died honorably fighting in a battle perhaps not unlike this one."

Tom grit his teeth whether from his words or from keeping up the curse from Albus' attacks, Grindelwald could not tell.

"She's not dead," he said slowly, "She's a powerful witch and too smart to get herself killed."

" If she vas smart she vould have stayed far avay from this var. You are sure she fought for me?"

"She was involved in your war. She did not fight for England, we have no records of her."

Grindelwald's eyes lit up. "No records? How mysterious!"

"But I can not help you," he said more somberly, I vish you luck. Good bye."

And then the curse was broken. The yelling magnified. A violent purple spell scraped the sleeve of his robe and exploded behind him. He drew his hood and looked up but Grindelwald had disappeared. Fury contorting his face, he spun on the spot.

. . .

Dumbledore flicked his wand, the force of the spell that emanated from it enough to interrupt the surrounding duels. Grindelwald erected a glimmering shield in time, however, the spell caused no visible damage to it.

"You vill not kill me Albus?" called Grindelwald.

"You do not deserve that easy an escape from your crimes, Gellert." Dumbledore said calmly, walking towards his opponent as though he had not a fear in the world.

A jet of blue flew from Grindelwald's wand. The spell halted harshly, a bit in front of Dumbledore then exploded into a hundred sparks, as though it had hit an invisible shield, the bright sparks disappearing before they could touch the ground. Before Dumbledore could raise his wand to attack Grindelwald, cracks of apparition rang, drowned out by the sound of battle.

Seven hooded figures surrounded him. Their cloaks were not the blood red of Gellert's men, nor were they the navy of the auror uniform. Albus eyed their black cloaks calculatively. A third party had joined, one he did not recognize.

. . .

"You again," Grindelwald clipped, a sneer twisting his face, "Have I not told you? I cannot help you!"

Really, this Tom Riddle brat was beginning to make him question his earlier assessment of the boy. Had he judged too quickly? Maybe the child's annoying tendency outweighed his potential usefulness.

"Look," Grindelwald said, "I vas, in fact, involved in a most magnificent duel! _Now,_ if y-"

"_Albus dumbledore_, is otherwise occupied at the moment," Tom interrupted coolly gesturing with a tilt of this head to where Albus was currently struggling to hold off against the best of the knights of Walpurgis.

"You will tell me the truth. If you do not, I will force the answers from you."

This resulted in a bout of laughter from the dark lord. Nearby, duels paused in distraction at the absurd sound. Laughter at this time? At this place? The looks drawn ranged from incredulousness to anger.

"And how vill you do that?" He asked, his laughter settled as he clutched his stomach, his grin fading, "you vill stop me" He asked serious. "I am unbeatable, you-"

Tom had drawn his wand. With swift movements, a long, thin shadow flew from the tip of it, wrapping itself around Grindelwald. For a moment, it seemed as though Grindelwald had been silenced, but then the cold shadow hardened to stone.

A chip appeared quickly covering the entire surface of stone. Grindelwald vanished, the stone masterpiece collapsed before Tom, sending shrapnel everywhere. Sensing a presence behind him, Tom turned around in time to glimpse Grindelwald, who had just reappeared, before a jet of green flew towards him. It hit an unlucky soldier in red who had unfortunately, or fortunately for Tom, been too involved in his own duel to account for his surroundings.

Tom's eyes widened imperceptibly as the bulky German fell dead in front of him. It was not the death that had caught him off guard, as much as it was the gravity of the situation. That the dead wizard being trampled upon that very second could have been him. Tom was no stranger to death, he was not innocent in the least. And he had let his guard down.

He had overlooked the capabilities of his, he was now realising, formidable opponent. His heart pulsed quicker. He did not have long to take in the sight of the wizard who had fell in his place. In quick succession, red joined green, as did purple. On and on this went, spells cast, curses reflected.

Then the cloudy sky above began to leak. Lightly at first then quickly escalating to a downpour. Tom gripped his wand in his left hand more securely, brandishing it in one long, fluid movement, seizing this valuable opportunity. Drops of rain manipulated, fleeing from their spot in suspension and covering Grindelwald like a cocoon of molten glass. For a few seconds, time stood still. Grindelwald was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass. Then the orb lowered and fell with a crash onto soil, sloshing wildly over anyone within radius, drenching figures to the bone.

Tom, dry and untouched, appeared before Grindelwald who kneeled gasping at his feet. A small dome surrected around them, blocking out sound and colors, neither rain nor spell could pass through. Tom's arm shot forward, harshly grabbing cool wet skin, turning the head to face him. Grindelwald's pupils were wide, dilating. His wand slid from his grasp. His pupils began to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed Tom whole-

And now Tom was flicking through Grindelwald's memories, like pages of a book. He watched Grindelwald as he entered his creation further back, Grindelwald in a great Lavish room sitting at the head of a long oak table, reading the headline on England's Daily prophet, a 1945 addition pleading on Albus Dumbledore to put a stop to the dark lord's reign.

A much younger Grindelwald as he recruited power hungry dark wizards to join hi regime.

A teenaged Grindelwald in a small homely room, sun shining brightly over him. He carried a rucksack and delicate purple bruises resided under his eyes. A somber woman handed him a portkey to take him out of the country.

The scene shifted once more and Grindelwald was caught in a duel between Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore. Bright lights reflected off of various surfaces. A spell from Gellert's wand nearly missed Aberforth's head and instead collided with a picture frame displayed on the mantelpiece, exploding, sending shards of glass in every direction. Albus, enraged raising his wand towards Grindelwald, Grindelwald mirroring his actions. A small child, Arianna shrieked as she ran in front of Albus, pleading them all to stop. Tom watched the light leaving her eyes after two jets of green leave two separate wands. She collapsed. He watched as Albus kneeled beside her form, shocked reaching to turn her slumped form over.

"Don't you touch her!" Aberforth screams bloody, his eye watering. "You killed her!" he shrieks, at who, Gellert can't be sure. Aberforth's eyes land on Gellert as he cradles his sister in his arms.

"Get out! Get out! I'll kill you!" he says between large teary gulps.

The scene fades and Gellert is carefully etching a strange rune Tom has never seen before onto a bare stretch of stone wall at Durmstrang as students mill about, passing him by.

Tom pulls out of the memory and his senses return to him and released Grindelwald, causing him to slump over. Jean Grant had not appeared even once in Grindelwald's memory. He doesn't know how to react. He was just so... sure. And now he has truly hit a dead end.

. . .

The rain was lifting and more and more aurors were apparating in to join the battle. Dark wizards tried in vain to flea, trapped in by anti apparition wards. It would seem, to many onlookers, that the battle had been won. The dome surrounding Tom and Grindelwald had vanished. The man was useless to him now. Tom raised his wand, pointing it at the defeated wizards temple-

"Expelliarmus!" His wand was torn from his grasp. Enraged, Tom spun around to find the culprit.

"Dumbledore," Tom spat.

Aurors swarmed them, swiftly incarcerating a greatly weakened Grindelwald and two aurors swept by his side, securing the darklord and portkeyed to the ministry for questioning in headquarters.

"Riddle, that duel was brilliant, sir!" Tom ignored the congratulations and turned to face Dumbledore.

"My wand," he demanded, stretching out his hand. "Sir," he added quickly with a sneer.

Dumbledore tentatively returned the yew to its master.

"Take him in for questioning as well, Thicknesse, Diggory," Tom spoke softly, as he met his old professor's gaze.

"Sir?" the aurors asked confused.

"For assisting the dark lord Grindelwald and hindering his capture. For conspiring with Grindelwald and involvements with dark arts. And for the murder of Ariana Dumbledore," Tom said coldly.

Blood drained from the old wizard's face, and his eyes widened. Numbly, he did not protest as he was portrayed out of the country.

. . .

"I will tell you what I can."

"The year of course was 1950. I had finally been forced to take action against Grindelwald. You see, he had finally invaded England. I arrived at the battle and was caught in a duel with Gellert. I was momentarily distracted by a group of, what I now must assume to be Tom's henchman. Meanwhile Tom arrived to take my place in the duel. At one point, the wizards stopped and pulled out a similar chain of silver from their necks and disappeared. By the time I was no longer distracted, Tom had already defeated Gellert. And the look he had in his eyes, I-I knew Tom was going to kill him. Later, I tried to tell Tom, warn him that there are fates much worse than death. Now, Gellert is bound to the very prison he built and I must bide my time in Azkaban, imprisoned like my father before me." Albus said, without the slightest hint of self pity.

Hermione listened intently.

"I was taken by aurors into a holding cell after Gellert's defeat. During this time, Tom had garnered quite a reputation in the ministry. The public even praised him to be the next minister of magic. He had quite a bit of evidence that he had collected from Gellert. So here I am."

"The reason," he sighed slowly, "why I had put off for so long facing Gellert; Whose spell had killed my sister?"

"And in those memories, I saw that it was mine. I killed my own sister."

A gasp escaped Hermione before she could stop it. During the Horcrux hunt, when she had read _The life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore _with Harry, she had been curious as to whose curse had killed Ariana. It was hardly discussed, of course.

"So that's why you're here," Hermione said, her young voice shaking.

"In order for the future to change, you must make sure that my duel with Grindelwald happens as it did in your original timeline. For some reason, I had acted sooner than later. I never discovered the truth of my mistake, and I was the one to defeat Gellert."

"Now, If that is all..." he said, his voice trailing off.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your help."

"Mrs. Granger, if ever you find yourself in need, do not hesitate to come to me."

Hermione tried to respond but the screen of the mirror she held went blank. The mirror's twin appeared on the floor beside her. She exhaled a breath slowly then reached for the mirror, pocketing both in her beaded bag. There was so much to do. So much to think about. She stood and tightened her cloak around her. She pulled out her time turner, ready to give it another go.


	28. Pocketwatch

December 28, 1943

With a sharp gasp, Hermione found herself landing on snow covered ground. She took a moment to collect herself before carefully tucking her time turner beneath her cloak. She made to apparate when through the hedges of Riddle manor, she caught sight of her own self, wand drawn and directed right at her.

She faintly heard a door open and she sighed a breath of relief when her other self turned her attention away from her and towards Tom. She waited silently and unmoving until she saw herself apparate away and Tom retreat back into the manor.

Alone now, he vanished.

…

January 3, 1944

"Tom, now just wait a second." Tom stopped in his tracks, turning to face his father.

Tom remained passive as the car door slammed and his father fumbled with his coat pocket. Tom wished his father would hurry.

He finally grasped the box he had been rummaging for.

The remainder of his holiday, since returning from the cemetery, had been noticeably more somber and tension filled. Tom had kept to himself until now.

Tom let his grip on the trolley go, reaching out to accept his father's gift.

"I had meant to give it to you sooner. I was waiting for you..." he trailed off as he watched his son open the small leather box.

He looked inside... and slowly closed it, slipping it into his trouser pocket.

. . .

Tom looked down at his wrist before looking back at his partner.

"Eileen, the train will be reaching Hogwarts soon. We'll finish our rounds here." He told the younger prefect.

"Right, then," she said, as they set off along the train.

The corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions. Tom was going to enter the slytherin sixth-year compartment when Eileen stopped him.

"Tom," She blurted out, "I," she began quietly, "I think it was really good of you, what you did." He faced her fully now. She seemed unsure of herself, but she held up her head determinedly.

"You stopped the attacks last year," she elaborated, "Being a slytherin it-"

"I," he interrupted, with a tight lipped smile, "was merely doing my duty to the school. I happened to be at the right place at the right time. Nothing more, Eileen."

She slowly began to nod her head her dark locks obscuring her hair before she went her separate way, sliding open a compartment door before leaving him in the empty corridor.

Tom entered the compartment and went straight for his trunk. The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over slytherins.

"I can see Hogwarts," said Walburga, pointing out of the blackened window. "We'd better get our robes on."

Tom pulled on his robes like the others, then locked his trunk as the train slowed to a jerky crawl. Mulciber through the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside as the rest of the compartment followed.

"A wrist watch, eh Riddle?" drawled Abraxas, closing his book and leaning closer. It was all sleek metals and shiny leather.

"It's quite… muggle of you," he said carefully.

"A gift from my father," Tom said sharply.

"I see," Abraxas said quietly, slipping his book into his robe pocket. "For your coming of age and all." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautifully engraved, golden pocket watch. "Wizards are traditionally given a pocket watch when they turn of age."

Tom thought of the silver watch Professor Slughorn wore on a double-albert chain. Dumbledore had a watch he would occasionally pull out, with a face that would glow turquoise blue.

Tom stared at the boy's golden watch before looking back to his. He unstrapped the watch and removed it from his wrist, then tapped it with his pale yew wand.

The corridors were filling up again and at last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt.

Together they made their way onto the dark platform.

. . .

They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the great Hall.

The Great Hall with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow in a shimmering blur.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Grindelwald and his followers are at large and gaining strength."

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dippet spoke. Tom looked around the hall. Dippet had everyone's full attention now. Except for Walburga, who was not looking at Headmaster Dippet but instead, making his fork hove in midair with his wand, as though she found the headmaster's words unworthy of her attention.

He eye it as it crossed the table and proceeded to take a few good jabs at the girl's younger cousin.

"We cannot know for certain how dangerous the present situation is in effect to Hogwarts, but rest assured, much care has been taken to ensure that we remain safe. Still, we must guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them- in particular, the rule that you are not to be out after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves always, with the utmost regard for your own and other's safety."

Dippet's brown eyes swept over the students.

Tom listened attentively until food began appearing on the platters before them.

He reached across Rosier for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of chips as the great hall erupted in chatter.

"It's a load of bollocks if you ask me," Tom heard Yaxley saying.

"It's like this," he continued, "See, Grindelwald has control over most Europe and he's still working to build his reign there. Sure, theres been some activity in Britain, but he certainly doesn't have time to go raising an army there. There's no point to this curfew nonsense."

"That's right," Greengrass chipped in, "And over christmas I heard... things," The blonde said before taking a dainty bite into her salad. The slytherins leaned in closer towards her. Greengrass took a sip from her glass, relishing in the atmosphere she had created.

"Well? Get on with it, Olivia," Walburga hissed to the girl next to her.

She smirked and leaned in over the table, saying in hushed tones, "Grindelwald is letting the mudbloods go. Blood supremacy doesn't matter to him. It's the power he's after, he merely wants to dominate and rule the muggles," She told them.

"What are you on about, haven't you been keeping the news? All the attacks-"

"None targeted the mudbloods. It's power he's after, not blood supremacy. He's overthrowing the wizarding governments now, but first he had to infiltrate the muggle's.

And that's not all." She blinked and went back to eating her food.

"You're going to leave it at bloody that?" said Mulciber incredulously, his hand turning white around his knife.

"Ow! You absolute cow!" Greengrass complained, rubbing at her arm where Walburga had pinched her.

"Oh, just spit it out already!"

"I will not!"

"Olivia," Tom's velvety voice cut in quietly, "I'd be pleased to hear what you have to say. After all, you have proven time and again the value of your words."

Tom smiled mechanically.

"Oh! Of course Tom!" Greengrass simpered, the her cheeks faintly flushed. "Well, see, Grindelwald," she tucked a curly strand behind her ear, "They say he fears Dumbledore!" she explained, voice hushed.

The conversation halted, as a row of heads slowly turned to the front of the hall.

But not for long.

"That barmy codger?" Mulciber said confused. "You can't seriously expect us to believe the Dark Lord Grindelwald is afraid of him." He looked at Greengrass with disbelief.

"I don't tell lies, Mulciber," Greengrass hissed indignant.

None of them could deny that.

"There's no doubt Dumbledore is an accomplished wizard," Abraxas started slowly, "But it does seem quite mad," he said to Greengrass who raised her chin at them.

"I swear I heard it," she insisted.

The food vanished, replaced with puddings.

Grindelwald feared Dumbledore? Tom was intrigued.

"You're lying," Walburga hissed, "The dark lord Grindelwald would never fear a muggle lover like Dumbledore! And let's say if the other nonsense you heard about Grindelwald is true, at least he's doing something about those vermin. The muggles are offing each other by the hundreds, it's the best thing to happen to the wizarding world since Sleekeazy's!"

The fact was indisputable to the slytherins.

The conversation lulled.

With the usual deafening, scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories.


	29. Diagon Alley

July 24, 1944

Tom went down to breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Riddle and Tom Sr. already sitting at the kitchen table. He sat down and took the toast Mrs. Riddle offered him.

"Tom, an owl came for you ," said Mr. Riddle, passing him envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink.

Tom read the letters as his family chatted idly. There was a list of the new books he'd need for the coming year. He knew what to expect before even having to open the second.

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to serve as Headboy. You proven that you have ambition, the ability to lead other, and are resourceful, which Slytherins have long been lauded for.

We are certain that you will continue to be a model for your peers and will take your new responsibilities seriously. Enclosed please find your Head Badge, which should be worn on your school robes at all times. Congratulations!

Sincerely,

Armando Dippet

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"What have you got there, son," Tom Sr. asked as he saw something flash silver and gold fall into his son's palm.

Tom turned it over in his hand, the hogwarts crest glinting. "It's my headboy badge."

"Headboy? Well, that's wonderful, Tom!" Tom Sr. said

"We'll have a celebratory dinner," Mary Riddle announced. "Would you like that, Tom?"

He looked up from his badge, and slipped it into his pocket. "I would like that very much," he answered seriously.

"Of course you shall have it," his grandfather injected, "A boy has more self respect when he can prove as able as you.

August 25, 1944

The manor was empty, save for Tom. Truth be told, he had been waiting for a day like this to come, where he could slip out unnoticed. He got up and dressed, choosing a plain shirt and trousers. He opened his wardrobe, and retrieved a pouch of coins he shrunk and placed in his pocket.

Turning on the spot, he apparated to Diagon Alley. He was quickly swept into the bustle of rushing shoppers. The sun shined brightly down on stacks of cauldrons at the nearest shop. Copper, brass, pewter, silver, all sizes. _Eelop's Owl Emporium_ advertised tawny, screech, barn, brown, and snowy. A gaggle of boys crowded around the window shop showing off the latest broom, the _Cleansweep 30_.

He made his way down the cobbled alley to Flourish and Blotts. Inside the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk' books full of peculiar symbols, and a few books with nothing in them at all.

He picked up, The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7, from the display at the front of the shop as well as a few other finds. Afterwards he headed to Madam Malkin's.

She was dressed all in mauve, smiling widely.

"New robes dear?" she asked, leading him to the back of the shop. She slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," a small boy being fitted next to him greeted.

Tom nodded back.

"You're Tom Riddle, aren't you?" he asked.

"I am," Tom said, raising an eyebrow at the dark haired boy.

"I'm Black. Cygnus Black. Walburga's my sister. She says you're brightest wizard to attend Hogwarts since Merlin himself," he told Tom excitedly.

But before Tom could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear."

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I'm going to be in Slytherin," said the boy confidently.

"Slytherin would do well to have you," Tom told him who smiled, pleased.

Tom collected his bag and paid his amount before leaving the shop.

Outside, he put on a lighter black cloak, drawing the hood, before crossing the street. He glanced around, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.

The side street, devoted to the dark arts, looked completely deserted.

He peered into windows as he passed them, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all.

He stepped into Borgin and Burkes. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. He came to stand in the midsts of cases filled with skulls and old bottles before reaching the back wall. There stood a single ebony shelf, only half stocked with old, dusty tombs.

It was important that he find answers here. If not, he would have to need to involve Professor Slughorn. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Some time later found himself leaning against a case that held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye.

A bell clanged, as Tom closed the last book. Sighing, he placed it back on the shelf. He had found some of the tombs interesting, the rest useless, and none had what he was looking for.

Two people entered the shop, and rang a bell on the counter. Mr. Borgin, a stooping man appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

"Young Master Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted - and the Black Missus, too - charmed. How may I be of assistance? Or, might you be here to, collect-"

"Yes, yes, have you got it?" Abraxas asked, crossing the shop, looking lazily at the items on display.

Borgin slinked back to the store room.

Malfoy, who had reached for a glass eye drawled "Don't touch anything, Walburga." Then as an after thought he added, " Or do."

He bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls- when he saw a pair of brown leather shoes through the opposite side. He straightened himself quickly, making his way around the shelf, but he was alone. He was admiring a withered hand on a cushion when he heard conversation from the front of the shop.

"Abraxas," Tom greeted as Abraxas joined them.

"Tom, I knew I saw someone back there," he said, leaning against the counter.

Just then, Borgin reappeared, a pair of pince-nez fixed to his nose and a small wrapped package in hand.

"There you have it," he said setting the package carefully upon the counter. Abraxas glanced at it before shrinking it to size and shoving it into his pocket.

"Master Riddle, you must be extremely careful with those!" Borgin warned.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Borgin, I shall be taking fine care of this," Abraxas said, clapping his pocket enthusiastically as the three slytherins made their way to the door.

The moment the door had closed, Walburga dropped her timid manner.

"That was unbearable," she exclaimed. "Did you see the way he was looking at me, the cretin."

They had emerged into a dingy alleyway and passed a nasty window display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watched them from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other.

"I never asked you to come," Abraxas pointed out, but she pointedly ignored him. "What's a dame like you want to go there for anyways?"

"Father used to take Alphard there when he was younger. He hated the trips and used to tell me all the vile things he'd seen in there. I wanted to go too, but father would never bring me."

"What business had you there?" Abraxas asked Tom.

"Research."

They were soon thrown back into the busy streets of Diagon Alley.

"Walburga! WALBURGA!"

There was Cygnus waving them over frantically, with another blonde haired girl, sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor along with Orion Black.

"Walburga!" said Cygnus, as they sat down. "You said you would be waiting outside of Madam Malkins! Then I met Druella, she got tired of shopping and she's run away from her parents-"

"Damon helped me!" She piped in.

"And we went to Flourish and Blotts and Tomes and Scrolls, but you weren't there! Then we ran into Orion and he bought us this-!" Cygnus and Druella showed off their large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams.

"Orion," Walburga fawned, leaning towards him, placing her hand on her cousin's arm. He had filled out over the summer holiday, she noted pleased. "You didn't tell me you would be here today," She said fluttering her long lashes and twirling a dark strand of glossy hair around her finger. "Lucretia's wrote me that you've been made prefect!"

"Well done, Orion," Tom said, "We'll be seeing more of each other this year."

Orion nodded back curtly.

"I'm telling, Walburga." Cygnus said, his eyes dreamy as he slurped happily on his ice cream.

"Oh, Merlin," Orion said nervously. He attempted to get up but Walburga stopped him, holding down his arm and whispering into his ear.

"Mummy said you were to were to accompany me," Cygnus continued.

"You won't say word," she hissed venomously. "Not unless you fancy dear mother finding your magazines under the floorboards," Walburga threatened.

"I have no such things. Besides, we both know mummy favors you least. I'm the youngest son of the House of Black. She wouldn't believe you even if shoved the magazines under her nose." Cygnus said calmly, handing over the over the cone of his ice cream to Druella.

"You little shite!" she screeched, her cheekbones turning red. She leaped out of her chair and after her brother, both disappearing into the crowds.

There was a brief silence. Then-

"What the bloody hell's wrong with those Blacks? They're a positively mental bunch, they are. I s-..." Malfoy stopped abruptly, remembering that Orion was still with them.

"Orion! Congratulation on the betrothal, I suppose. I don't reckon we could forget that? Walburga's not that bad really -"

"Go to hell, Malfoy," Orion swore, his grey eyes flashing. He pushed back in his chair and grabbed Druella's bag of school books before dragging her by hand off to return her to her parents.

"It was lovely to meet you," she called, waving to the handsome boys.

Tom and Abraxas sat alone now, under the unforgiving sun.

"That sorry son of a bitch," Abraxas said, shaking his head. "You can tell he doesn't want it…"

"Who's a bitch?" Rosier asked as he sat down with them, three minty ice creams in hand.

"It doesn't matter," Abraxas said, taking the cone offered. "Say, I don't suppose you might have lost something, you know, blonde and about yea big," he said raising his hand a ways above the table. Cygnus has taken her."

"Oh? He's alright, Cygnus. Mum and dad were throwing a real fit," he said calmly.

"He's been made prefect," Abraxas told him.

"And no doubt you've been made Headboy, haven't you?" Rosier said to Tom.

"I have," he said quietly.

"It was to be expected really," Rosier said, looking to the sky and squinting.

"I heard the Headgirl's Hufflepuff," Rosier continued.

"Well that's a damn sight better than Gryffindor," Abraxas said.

"This is really going to be our last year."

Tom had a lot to do before the school year was done.


	30. Slug Club

December 1, 1994

The dungeon door opened, allowing the seventh years to enter the room. The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Tom was greeted with particular enthusiasm from Slughorn as he passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The Slytherins took a table together, choosing the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron. Tom frowned, noticing that the others were acting rather strange.

Abraxas and Nott, Rosier and Greengrass were breathing very slowly and deeply, as though the potion's fumes were filling them like a drink. They were grinning rather lazily at each other, as he noticed was the rest of the class contently.

"Now then, now then," said Slughorn, who stood behind the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making. . . ."

"Today," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Tom peered over, from in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it. Veritaserum.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," Nott called out.

"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known."

"lt's Polyjuice Potion, sir," said the Ravenclaw girl sitting nearest the slow-bubbling, mud like substance in the second cauldron.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here?" asked Slughorn.

There was no immediate answer.

"It's Amortentia, sir," Tom said quietly.

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's an extremely powerful love potion," said Tom.

"Quire right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom answered. He had seen before. In the glass his mother had given his father in a memory.

"Now class, notice the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Slughorn, "This will smell differently to each, according to what attracts us,

"Well, 10 well-earned points for Slytherin, and 5 well earned for Ravenclaw," said Slughorn genially.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room - oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at the couple students smirking skeptically.

"When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love…And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Greengrass, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. Tom knew that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Tom, who had raised his brow and leaned over for a closer look, "that you know what Felix Felicis does,Tom?"

"It's liquid luck." he said.

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Slytherin. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed ... at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" a Gryffindor asked eagerly.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know. . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken

sparingly, and very occasionally . . ."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Abraxas in interest.

"Once in my life," said Slughorn. "When I was twenty-four. A single tablespoonful taken with breakfast. A single perfect day," he gazed dreamily into the distance.

"And that," said Slughorn, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions . . . sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only . . . and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"

"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible.

Tom bent swiftly over his book and set to work chopping his Valerian roots.

Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam.

Tom, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. His potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Then to cut up the sopophorous beans, proving very difficult to cut up. He frowned not taking his eyes off his potion, which was still now a light purple, though according to the book it ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.

According the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water.

Across the table, Abraxas was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion rapidly turning maroon.

"And time's . . . up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Tom, Abraxas, Nott, and Greengrass were sitting. He passed over the concoctions. At Tom's potion he gave an approving nod.

"Good show, m'boy, clearly it comes the closest in this class, but I'm afraid that I can announce no winner." They looked into his cauldron at his simmering mixture, tinted pale pink.

"I'll have to practice this, won't I ," Tom said.

The class emptied into the corridor, disappointed expressions as students made their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

Tom on the other hand, split to his Headboy dorm.

Inside his room he retrieved a package of Crystallized Pineapple from his desk. He freshened up, before heading towards the Slytherin common room.

. . .

With the rest of the school at dinner, the corridors were empty as was the common room aside from Avery, Lestrange, and Orion.

They sat at the black leather sofas, green light from the Black lake filtering through the window.

"Where's Abraxas?" Tom asked first.

"He's been called to leave the school, some sort of family emergency," Rosier answered.

Tom would ask Malfoy about it later.

"Tonight will be important, Gentleman," Tom told them.

"After dinner, I'll need to be left with Professor Slughorn alone. There will be no lingering in his quarters after curfew. Is that understood?"

There was a round of nods.

"Good. Now, today is Friday, I'll have rounds that need to be made. Orion, you will be making them. I've split them with the head girl, you'll be covering the dungeons, and the west wing. And one more thing, the Ravenclaw, Scamander, he'll be there too. Do make sure he gets out of there with you.

Together, they left to Slughorn's Private quarters.

Inside, Slughorn was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, on hand grasping a small glass of wine. The golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain, his little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe. He sat at the end of the table, to his right was Scamander.

"Tom, m'boy!" said Slughorn, who entered the room first. "Come in, come in," he said, waving them in.

The boys sat themselves down, all on harder or lower seats.

"Come sit, help yourselves boys, Pheasant, Scamander? I was just telling young Scamander here that I had the pleasure of teaching his father, Newt Scamander," Slughorn told the Slytherins, now passing around a basket of rolls. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, the author of your very own Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Did you know?" he asked them.

The evening drew on as such and the food cleared away.

The atmosphere was working to his advantage and he was relaxed. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair hi ring glinting at his subtle movements

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" he asked.

"Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite — "

Several of the boys tittered again. "— I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry."

Tom merely smiled as the others laughed again. "I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."

A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other, enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader's famous ancestor.

"Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet."

The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn. "You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

"Well, off you go, off you go!" One by one, the boys filed out of the room.

Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys left Tom, however, stayed behind dawdling deliberately, until he was the last in the room with Slughorn.

A movement behind Slughorn made him look around; Riddle was still standing there.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and Headboy..."

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away..."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about. . . about Horcruxes?"

Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.

"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

"No . . . well. . . you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.

"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd –"

Tom knew he must be very careful, he talked hesitantly, casually, adding flattery, but none of it was overdone. He wanted the information very, very much. He had been working toward this moment for weeks.

"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

Now he was getting somewhere.

"I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle, his voice carefully controlled, hiding his excitement.

"Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form... few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."

"And how does one split his soul, sir?"

"Well," said Slughorn, "By an act of evil. The supreme act of evil. You must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

"Murder," Tom said softly.

"Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion."

This was it, the moment to ask what he really wanted to know, ""What I don't understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven — ?"

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case . . . bad enough to divide the soul . . . but to rip it into seven pieces . . ."

Slughorn looked deeply troubled now but it was no matter to Tom, he had got what he wanted.

"Of course," Slughorn muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic . . ."

"Yes. Of course, Sir," Tom assured him.

"But all the same, Tom . . . keep it quiet, what I've told — that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know. . . Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it. ..."

"I won't say a word, sir," Tom promised, nodding before turning to leave. Slughorn would never see his face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human. . . .

"It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things. . . Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic. . ." Slughorn called out to Tom as he was leaving.

"Yes, sir," said Tom, pausing at the door.

"Professor, there was one more thing I wanted to ask you," he said slowly.

There was a beat of silence then, "Of course, Tom," he said kindly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world that Tom could always come to him for answers.

"What you said, in class today, about the amortentia. E_veryone_ smells something?" There was a odd feeling in his chest he wasn't used to.

"Yes, it has a different aroma to everyone who smells it," Slughorn said confused at Tom's question.

"Yes, but everyone is supposed to be able to smell something?"

"Of course, Tom. One smells the things that they find most attractive. Even if the person doesn't acknowledge or is unaware of their fondness for the one they are affectionate of themselves. To love is human nature. Everyone smells something."


	31. Mudblood

April 29 1945

The sound of a book shutting closed pulled Tom away from his studies. He reached towards his waist for his pocket watch. Dinner would have started by now. He too, closed his own heavy tomb to slip inside his bag. Across from him, Rosier stretched his legs out under the round table and with a lazy flick of his wand, sent his book zooming into the far away depths of the Hogwart's library.

Together they made their way out from their secluded area in the library and ventured towards the Great Hall.

Noisy babbling filled his ears as he entered and took his place at the Slytherin table, the median of the sixth and seventh years. He was greeted by those around him and replied with a curt nod of his head while he began to pile food onto his plate.

"Have you been holed in the library all day, Tom?"

Tom turned slightly to reply to the Ravenclaw prefect, Crouch, sitting at his back at the Ravenclaw table. "Not quite," he answered.

"You don't reckon exams could be canceled this year?" Crouch asked nervously.

"If what they say is true, that Dumbledore is really the man to finish Grindelwald, won't that lead them here?" He asked the headboy.

"I don't expect the war will stop N.E.W.T Exams from taking place. He won't touch Hogwarts."

"He won't unless Grindelwald manages to conquer the Empire, that is," Avery added seriously.

Wizarding Britain had officially taken the side of the Empire, the wizarding nations rejecting Grindelwald's imperialism. It had been much of a disappointment for many of his fellow supremacist Slytherins and their pure blood families.

Walburga Black grinned wickedly, "I say, let the dark lord come and have at it."

This earned a few snickers from the younger slytherin boys listening in, who sat further down the table.

Something about "absolute filth," came in the the form of a barely audible mutter from Orion Black sitting with the group of third years, causing the younger girls to burst into muffled shrieks of giggles. Walburga smirked at her younger cousin and sent him a look that easily went unnoticed by others. Tom was the exception of course. He also noticed when Orion stiffened and when the grip on his fork tightened.

"That's enough," Tom said eerily, putting his glass down. The laughter died down quickly and faces were drawn blank.

"Really, Black, how vile can..." Crouch had started, but Walburga had already turned her attention to and was lost in other clearly more fascinating conversations.

Affronted, the prefect turned to Tom his face showing clearly his disbelief and animosity. To this Tom could only offer a shrug, running his hand through his hair while Alphard Black, two years below Tom, could only shake his head for his sister. Crouch, with his brow furrowed turned back to his table.

The mood in the Great Hall was decidedly somber and filled with tension. The conversation mostly revolving around the war, and the Slytherin table was no exception.

Along with the wizarding newspapers arriving each morning at breakfast, it was now not uncommon for muggle papers to be read as well. A war between the muggles did not simply stay a war between muggles. It reflect back to the wizarding world. Very similar situations were taking place between both worlds.

The wizarding media had been hinting in the earlier months that a one Albus Dumbledore might be the only one powerful enough to put an end to the Dark Lord's Reign. Now even going as far as to outright urging him to make a move. The war was starting to take its toll on the professor. Canceling lessons and skipping meals, the damned twinkle had slowly faded from Dumbledore's eyes.

Conversations these day were redundant and he quickly grew bored of it. Tom drifted away from the conversation, taking a sip from his goblet, his eyes shifting up to the Head Table. Dumbledore had left. Dumbledore was preoccupied these days. And Tom made well sure to take advantage of it.

"Leaving early, Tom? You've hardly eaten," Abraxas drawled, not looking up from his paper he read while he ate. Tom snatched an apple up and nodded when the seventh year Slytherin, Nott, called out for him to not study too hard.

He strolled down the corridors and up the moving staircases getting off at the fourth floor, munching on his apple on his way to the library. He entered through the grands doors into the massive space. Filmy orange light trickled in from the arched windows. It was deserted save for the odd student seated with her head resting upon a pile of books in a desperate last ditch effort to absorb any morsel of information for a test that would no doubt take place the next day.

He deemed her unfit fit to wear Ravenclaw's robes. He passed a Hufflepuff couple who had gone to the library under the pretense of studying for their upcoming N.E.W.T Exams. They giggled over a book they were huddled over and didn't notice as Tom made it to the roped off restricted section.

Not Because he wasn't allowed access, more so because it would not do well for his reputation, He narrowed his eyes over his shoulder before slipping under the rope and into the room.

Tall shelves were packed to the brim with old and dusty tombs. These were books containing powerful dark magic never to be taught at Hogwarts. Books meant only to ever be read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He strolled over to the back and ran his finger across the spines of a row of books before plucking up Famous Fire Eaters. He slid down the shelf and sat with his back leaning against it then flicked through the pages to wear he had last left off.

He had been doing this for seven years, sneaking into restricted section whenever he had a free moment. The first couple of years, he would choose his reads randomly, the bigger and older the tomb the better. But as he grew older, as certain topics sparked his interest more than others, his selection became more refined. When he had discovered Horcruxes in his second year, his attention had been caught.

But this particular tomb Tom was working through, he read with different intentions. He was a good third of the way into the book and had read a couple of chapters during his stolen away time in the restricted section.

He turned the page, the tip of his wand hovering over the small and cramped print, emitting a faint blue glow. He was about to start a new chapter that promised tales and achievements of the celebrated alchemist Nicolas Flamel whom Tom did not know very much about.

A dull crash rang throughout the library, tearing his attention away from his book. He glanced at his pocket watch then sighed. How disappointing. Reluctantly he closed his book and reshelved before exiting the restricted section. It was nearly time for him to start his rounds anyway.

Outside, the Ravenclaw girl was kneeling on the floor, hurriedly grabbing her books scattered around the table while apologizing profusely to the Hufflepuff couple she had given a right fright to. They righted themselves straight away, the girl grabbing their book as the boy hurried her out, one arm around her waist while the other furiously rubbed at the rouge lipstick marking his neck.

For a while after they left she stood "Bloody hell," she grumbled, swinging her bulging bag over her shoulder, before finally exiting the library.

What a stupid little girl, Tom thought fleetingly. He left the library after her.

. . .

It was passed curfew when he heard hurried footfalls and the swooshing a crinkled velvet. He had finished his rounds without much trouble, the corridors had been deserted until now. Leaning down over the oak railing of the sixth floor balcony for a view of the miscreant, he was met with an intriguing sight.

Dumbledore was was descending down the moving staircase. And they were aligning as if by whim or his will, Tom didn't know, into a straight path for Dumbledore. Immediately, Tom knew that he would have to learn how to control the staircases. The left corner of Tom's lip threatened turn upwards. This meant tonight was the night.

He had expected it would happen soon. Grindelwald was more set on spreading his reign over Great Britain than the Ministry was letting on and the Media was letting be known. Grindelwald's Army was approaching and fast, according to his intel.

Tom had been waiting for this day. Counting on it even. A duel between Grindelwald and Dumbledore. One wizard would fall, saving him some trouble in the future. Tom wanted this war to end. He had his reasons.

He was on his way to retire for the, a gleam in his eyes when the sound of another, lighter set of footfalls reached his ears. Several floors above, a cloaked figure was fleeing down the stairs. He didn't realize the smirk that had taken over his face. He waited for her to reach him.

The smirk promptly fell from his face when she continued down past him, not even seeing him.

He waited at the gap in the railing where the stairs would connect soon. He willed them to come faster. He had some catching up to do.

. . .

Hermione nearly tripped. Again. She had been trailing Professor Dumbledore all day. The history books of her timeline all read that The Duel Between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald took place this day. She had been keeping track of history in the making by means of the daily prophet. She knew the public's opinion of Dumbledore was growing and the outcry for his assistance was becoming too vocal. Not to mention, Grindelwald's actions too horrible for him to put off the confrontation any longer. And finally Dumbledore had left his private quarters in a storm. She knew just where he was headed. She had to catch up to-

Her wand was out in an instant facing her attacker, a spell at the tip of her tongue... where it promptly vanished, though she did not lower her wand. It was Tom who was holding her by her wrist, who had spun her around to face him.

"You're leaving," he accused, his voice low.

"Let go, Tom!" she commanded with her voice hushed, struggling to free her hand.

"Where were you going?" He questioned, his grip tightening.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!" she whispered angrily at the same time. Attempting to change the subject.

He paused, then frowned. "I knew it! I knew! You're not leaving. It's too dangerous!" he told her. He wanted to yell but afterall, it wouldn't do well for them to be found out.

Hermione stilled. She didn't understand. How did Tom know that she was about to leave and watch the greatest duel of this century? And what did he know? He couldn't possibly know about-

"This war isn't yours to fight, Jean," he said his voice menacing. "You're fighting for the Empire, aren't you? This is going too far. Agree with their ideals if you must, but don't go and get yourself killed for them!"

Tom's misunderstanding became clear to Hermione. And she was becoming furious.

"Regardless of my safety, I will fight for the cause I believe in, Riddle! Don't you dare think that you can decide that for me! I will not stand idly by and simply watch as people are dying and -!" Her voice quivered with anger as she swatted like mad at his grip on her.

"Despite the risks, you'll interfere like a fool, will you? And you fight valiantly all for what? For who? Don't be stupid! Let the muggleborns and blood traitors deal with it! You are above this. Above them!"

"You-complete-bastard, Tom- Riddle!" She punctuated every word with a blow. "Honestly! How can you say that! You're family is muggle!"

His eyes darkened. "Do not bring them into this," he warned softly.

"This affects them too!" she insisted shrilly, "This has everything to do with them, with every muggle and muggleborn-!

"Don't compare my family to those wretched mudbloods! Theirs is a race far more inferior-!

Hermione wouldn't hear any more of it. "Don't touch me!" she shrieked yanking her arm back with all her force. But he didn't let go, the force of her actions simply forced them closer together, her forearm the only barrier between them, as she lost her footing on the steps.

Only his arm pinning her to the marble railing of the Grand staircase prevented her fall. The sleeve of her cloak sagged and draped over the crook of her elbow.

She saw as his eyes registered her scar in his peripheral vision. She watched, breathless, as his eyes slowly moved downward, focusing on the crude, pink letters.

"I'm a mudblood!" she spat.

Hard as it was, he looked away from the scar and into her eyes. "Don't..." he stumbled, "don't say that-"

"Why shouldn't I! Mudblood, and proud of it! I'll tell it to anyone who asks! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to leave, before I can come to my senses and realize that you are irrevocably hopeless," she said, her throat closing up towards the end, as she wrenched her arm away from his grasp which had slackened considerably.

She had reached the bottom of the steps by the time he had processed what had happened, what was going to happen.

"Grant!" He called out making quick work of the stairs. He reached the end, but she was gone.


	32. The Duel

She was actually here now, it wasn't just a mere memory. The flashes of color, the sound of far away explosions and tuds, yelling and screaming, she had seen in played before already.

Tremendous leaps of crimson and gold flames caught her attention and she watched as a wall of fire permanently took down and army of Grindelwald's men. Then there at the center of it all was none other than Dumbledore.

His pale blue robes rippled and his silvering locks of auburn hair crackled fiercely. Then suddenly Grindelwald appeared beside him beaming, a manic glint in his eyes.

Hermione raised the hood of her cloak up, before entering deeper into the battle zone. She closed in on Grindelwald's spectacular duel against Dumbledore. She had to make sure the right side won.

. . .

"It was foolish of you to come here, tonight," Dumbledore said, "There are many more on their way."

"That is ov no matter, Albus. Avterall, I am undefeatable," Gellert smiled tightly, extravagantly extracting his wand.

"Are you sure you vant this, Albus?" Grindelwald ask, eyeing his wand a he twirled it in his hands. "You will not leave here alive…"

"I never wanted any of this, but that is something you have always known, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked him calmly.

Rage shown in Grindelwald's face to match Albus's.

Gold light erupted from Grindelwald's wand, aimed at his enemy.

Dumbledore produced black shadows that gathered in a misty shield that towered before him, swallowing Grindelwald's golden curse.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, the force of the spell that emanated from it enough to interrupt the surrounding duels. Grindelwald erected a glimmering shield in time, however, the spell caused no visible damage to it.

"You vill not kill me Albus?" called Grindelwald.

"You do not deserve that easy an escape from your crimes, Gellert." Dumbledore said, walking towards his opponent as though he had not a fear in the world.

A jet of blue flew from Grindelwald's wand. The spell halted harshly, a bit in front of Dumbledore then exploded into a hundred sparks, as though it had hit an invisible shield, the bright sparks disappearing before they could touch the ground.

Dumbledore raised his wand and attacked with swift movements, a long thin shadow flying from the tip of it, wrapping itself around Grindelwald.

For a moment, it seemed as though Grindelwald had been silenced, but then the cold shadow hardened to stone.

A chip appeared quickly covering the entire surface of stone. Grindelwald vanished and the stone masterpiece collapsed, sending shrapnel everywhere.

Sensing a presence behind him, Dumbledore turned around in time to glimpse Grindelwald, who had just reappeared, before a jet of green flew towards him.

But before it could reach him, it was first and foremost rapidly coursing towards a cloaked figure. Hastily, the figure drew their wand and jerked it in a series of swishes and flicks. Dumbledore recognized it as quite an advanced transfiguration spell. A wall of gold materialised before the figure just in time to meet the force of killing course. It deflected to the ground, and the impact left a scorching mark. The hood of the figure fell back. Dumbledore recognized her as the time traveler from the library-

He had been distracted, there was no time to raise a shield. all that was left to do was…

Dumbledore dropped to his knees, barely missing a crackling purple curse sent his way.

"I'm disappointed, Albus," Grindelwald taunted, "You are losing your touch, old boy."

Dumbledore cleared his mind of everything and everyone but him and the man before him.

Curses were exchanged.

"You ver never strong enough for this," Gellert said, as he swiftly brought his wand down.

"In the end, you could not go through vith it. But vas it not for the greater good that ve started this all?"

A dark curse sprung from his wand and Dumbledore quickly conjured a shield. The curse forcefully smashed into Dumbledore's flickering wall and he stumbled back a few steps.

Grindelwald smiled cruelly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It vas foolish of _you_ to come here, Albus," he slashed his wand again, "You vill not win," he finished, his smile vanished.

A purple mist surrounded Dumbledore, choking him. He resisted greatly, but slowly he fell, kneeling on his knees.

Hermione watched panic. Why wasn't Dumbledore getting up? What had changed? As her former headmaster struggled, she made up her mind.

She whipped out Harry's invisibility cloak, rejoining the battle unseen. Behind Grindelwald, she aimed her wand at his back, sending a flock of birds speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets towards him. Momentarily he was distracted as the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach. He was halted for barely a few seconds, but it was enough to cause him to halt his curse. It was enough time for Dumbledore to stand, albeit shakily, regaining his composure. The dark lord cursed in his native tongue, his face minorly scratched up as he turned back to see Dumbledore standing tall.

Then they were dueling again. Firing curses Hermione had never seen or heard of. She watched in awe of the extraordinary exchange before her.

Dumbledore sent forth a powerful spell that Grindelwald was forced block with a silver shield. The spell did not harm the shield, instead making a gong-like sound as it was deflected.

Grindelwald's face twisted in fury, realizing that Dumbledore really did not meat to kill him.

Dumbledore then cast a fiery rope around Grindelwald, the flames constricting his movement, before it was transfigured into a spiral of water twisting around him before falling to the ground with a great splash.

Grindelwald then conjured a huge, fiery serpent, that stood stories high. Wizards paused in their battles staring in awe as it grew. It reared, then striking down, exposed its fangs and opened it jaw completely, in an attempt to devour Dumbledore.

Dumbledore backed up and slashes at the creature with his wand in a flicking movement, dispelling the flames and gathering them before sending them hurtling towards Grindelwald who defended himself by pushing the fire passed and around him, vanishing them.

He then cast a large, continuous torrent of darkness towards Dumbledore, who held it back with a powerful silvery charm. Grindelwald gathered the black energy into a ball of incandescent light, which he released with a roar, sending the energy in all direction. The explosion knocked several spectators over, Though Dumbledore was merely pushed back a few steps.

Grindelwald Apparated, and sent another deadly curse at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore met it with a cord of red light, both spells colliding producing a heating dripping magma. With great force exerted, they held onto their wands as the rope of light between them crackled and thrummed. A sheen of sweat trickled down Grindelwald's forehead. he lifted his head to better face his opponent and their eyes met.

Then Grindelwald's pupils were wide, dilating. His wand slid from his grasp. His pupils began to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed Albus whole-

And now he was flicking through Grindelwald's memories, like pages of a book. He watched Grindelwald as he entered his creation further back, Grindelwald in a great Lavish room sitting at the head of a long oak table, reading the headline on England's Daily prophet, a 1945 addition pleading on Albus Dumbledore to put a stop to the dark lord's reign.

A much younger Grindelwald as he recruited power hungry dark wizards to join his regime.

A teenaged Grindelwald in a small homely room, sun shining brightly over him. He carried a rucksack and delicate purple bruises resided under his eyes. A somber woman handed him a portkey to take him out of the country.

The scene shifted once more and Grindelwald was caught in a duel between Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore. Bright lights reflected off of various surfaces. A spell from Gellert's wand nearly missed Aberforth's head and instead collided with a picture frame displayed on the mantelpiece, exploding, sending shards of glass in every direction. Albus, enraged raising his wand towards Grindelwald, Grindelwald mirroring his actions. A small child, Arianna shrieked as she ran in front of Albus, pleading them all to stop.

Dumbledore watched the light leaving her eyes after two jets of green leave two separate wands. She collapsed. He watched as he kneeled beside her shocked, reaching to turn her slumped form over.

"Don't you touch her!" Aberforth screams bloody, his eye watering. "You killed her!" he shrieks, at them. Aberforth's eyes land on Gellert as he cradles his sister in his arms.

"Get out! Get out! I'll kill you!" he says between large teary gulps.

The scene fades Gellert is reading a letter as he slumps under a tree, shading him from the warm summer sun.

_Gellert—_

_Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE _MUGGLE'S _OWN GOOD - this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at _Durmstrang_! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)_

_Albus_

He folds the letter, putting it in his trouser pocket and smiles, folding his arm behind his head and leaning back...

And then Gellert is carefully etching a strange rune onto a bare stretch of stone wall at Durmstrang as students mill about, passing him by.

Dumbledore goes back through the memories-

A teenaged Grindelwald in a small homely room, sun shining brightly over him. He carries a rucksack and delicate purple bruises resided under his eyes. A somber woman handed him a portkey to take him out of the country.

"Must you leave so soon, Gellert?" she asks sadly. "It's as though you've just arrived here yesterday," she tries to persuade him.

"I can't. I've… I've done something awful. I… I can't stay here any longer." He babbles.

Dumbledore pulls out of the memory and his senses return to him. Grindelwald's curse shrinks back and Dumbledore's takes over. Pushing, pushing, until it takes over completely Gellert is thrown back and hurtles through the air, before landing with a great thump on the dirt ground. Dumbledore apparated to his side, pulling Grindelwald's wand from his fragile grasp and he snaps the wand. Gellert's eye shoot open at the sound, shooting upright and freezing when he sees the tatters of his great Elder wand.

He knows it's over.

Dumbledore stands above his old friend victorious, but there is no pride in it.

More and more aurors were apparating in to join the battle. Dark wizards tried in vain to flea, trapped in by anti apparition wards. It would seem, to many onlookers, that the battle had been won.

Aurors swarmed them, swiftly incarcerating a greatly weakened Grindelwald and two aurors swept by his side, securing the darklord and portkeyed to the ministry to be tried.

. . .

"My sentence?" Grindelwald asks resigned.

Dumbledore sits at the opposite side of the small table. They are in a holding cell in the ministry. Alone, as the war hero has requested.

"A life sentence in Nurmengard," Dumbledore answered his friend solemnly.

"Ah…" Grindelwald sighed. "Alas, in the end my own creation vill be used against me."

He shifted in his chair and the magical chains cuffing his wrist clanked.

"And in the end you destroyed the Elder Vand," he said.

"It would appear so," Dumbledore said lightly.

Grindelwald lifted a gold brow slightly, a glint in his eyes, but he did not ask further.

"Vhy did you stop," Grindelwald said instead. "You could have gone further, you could have seen the truth. Whose curse vas it? Do you no longer vish to know?"

"The truth," Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, no matter the outcome…" Whether it had been he to cast the spell that killed his sister or the one he had wholly loved…

Dumbledore rose slowly, his pale blue robes scorched and muddy. He had dragged this on long enough. He did not know what he expected to happen.

The past could not be undone.

"I alvays knew this was not vhat you vanted," Grindelwald spoke.

This was it; All Dumbledore would get. Gellert had used Dumbledore in their youth, had taken advantage of their love and it had ended when he betrayed Albus horribly.

"I had always feared it would come to this. Goodbye, Gellert," Dumbledore said quietly, closing the door between them.


	33. NEWTs take two

April 50, 1945

"Syrup of hellebore," he muttered under his breath, pouring it into his cauldron until it faded to turquoise.

_mudblood_

He held the porcupine quills in his gloved hand tightly, crushing them, as the potion simmered to purple.

_Where was Jean?_

He wondered as he shook the powdered quills vigorously into the potion

_mudblood_

He continued to add the powder and stir as the mixture simmered, changing colors every so often.

He rolled up the sleeves of his white button down and loosened his tie, opening the collar.

_She couldn't be. A mudblood._

_She was too…_

He added the powdered unicorn horn.

_Where was she?_

"Powdered moonstone…" he paused and look down at the mortar in his hand.

_Shit._

He backed away from the cauldron, placing the the wrong powder back on his desk and picked up the glimmering white one.

He allowed no more thoughts of Jean after that.

Finally grey turned to orange and he added the last of the porcupine quills.

He sat down and stared blankly into the cauldron. All that was left was to wait for the potion to turn white.

_Why wasn't she back yet?_

His jaw clenched.

_Would she come back? After last night…_

The potion emitted a silvery vapor.

He pointed his wand toward his cauldron and extinguished the fire. He carefully ladeled his Draught of Peace concoction into a small small glass vial.

"First to finish Tom, as expected," Professor Slughorn praised in a hushed whisper as he sidled beside Tom.

"I'd dare say it's perfect," Slughorn said, vanishing the remaining contents in Tom's Cauldron. Tom handed his vial to Professor Slughorn and cleared his work space.

"You know, Tom, I must say you don't look well," Slughorn said concerned, taking in the bruises under Tom's eyes and his disheveled hair.

"This won't do, why, it's only the first day of N.E.W.T.s. I want you back in your dorm, resting." he said, urging Tom towards the door.

"Professor, I -,"

"I know you have the transfiguration exam tomorrow, very important you know. And this bunch won't be done for hours. Go on," Slughorn said, pushing him out the door.

Tom looked back at the mere handful of seventh years who had managed to qualify for the Potion's N.E.W.T. They had yet to add the hellebore.

In the hall, Slughorn slipped him a tiny key.

Slughorn leaned in close, "For my store room. Back wall, 5th shelf up, to the right. Purple vial, half should do the trick," he said in hushed tones, looking down the halls suspiciously, before patting his shoulder and slipping back into the room.

Tom stood there alone alone for a moment, taking in what had just happened. Slowly he turned around, heading for the tapestry hall.

. . .

"Scribblifors turns objects into quills. Flintifors transforms things into match boxes. Merlin, Goyle, those are third year spells. It's lucky for you Dumbledore takes Acceptables. If it weren't for Tom tutoring you, you'd be getting troll shi-..."

Goyle squinted, at Abraxas and began cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Abraxas sniffed, and quickly turned to his side saying hurriedly, "Anyways, Avery, what was that you were saying about transforming your opponent's head into a tentacle?"

Tom joined his gang at the slytherin table where dinner was spread out. Tom looked up at the Head table. Dumbledore was still missing.

"What do you say the chances are he's not back tomorrow?" Nott pondered aloud beside him.

"Slim to none," Tom answered, poking at his chicken.

"Is it too much to ask? I mean the man brought down Grindelwald last night. Why aren't exams being delayed?" Dolohov whined.

At that moment the doors opened and Dumbledore walked in, looking worse for wear, his face grim as he took his seat at the head table. The hall had been silenced, only the occasional student whispering behind their hand, as Dumbledore walked across the stone floor. Then slowly, from the Gryffindor table, a slow clap sounded.

Tom barely contained an eyeroll, he knew what would happen next -

The hall exploded in cheer for Dumbledore, and students applauded and hollered with the exception of the slytherins, though a few did clap politely. Dumbledore, for his part appeared taken aback. He smiled, but only slightly.

Had anyone been looking carefully, they would have seen the usual twinkle in his eyes was absent.

Tom pushed his plate away. He didn't have much of an appetite anyway. Unnoticed, he slipped out of the hall to his headboy dorm. The noise had prompted a headache.

_mudblood_

The halls were empty as he walked through, and his thoughts magnified.

_a jagged pink scar. mudblood._

He fumbled at the door, choking out the password. The door opened, and he walked in, his foot catching on a slip of paper. He froze and looked down, picking up the letter outside his door.

He clenched it in his fist and moved over to the sofa, plopping down. He looked straight ahead before finally releasing the letter from his fist and opening it.

He felt deflated. Only two measly words.

I'm okay.

_I'm okay._

He searched the letter, although there was close to nothing to analyze. Had Jean been here? The parchment was fine and thick, the kind he used. He leapt up from his seat, and hurried to his room up the stairs. Had she penned it here? When had he missed her? He hadn't been out long, maybe he could catch her. Knowing it was useless, he left his dorm and wandered the halls searchingly. Soon, students began to trickle into the halls, heading for their rooms. He swallowed hard.

She was gone. And after what had happened last night, he knew Jean wasn't coming back.

_mudblood. _

Tom wandered the halls for a time after that, memories flooding him, feeling numb.

He didn't notice the time passing by. How students disappeared. How the corridor darkened. Jean was muggleborn. And didn't he hate them? What did Jean think of him? She had never said anything.

They had ended badly. But Jean was reasonable. Surely she would come back. They were… friends, weren't they? Things needed to be straightened out and amended and…

"RIddle?" a voice asked surprised.

Tom paused at the foot of the stairs, his hand on the marble railing.

Dumbledore stood in silk dressing gowns, atop the staircase. "Come."

Tom met him at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom? It is unlike you, to be caught out after curfew."

"I...lost track of time, sir," said Tom, truthfully.

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving him the penetrating stare he knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors with exams tomorrow."

He sighed heavily, bade Tom good night, and strode off. Tom watched him walk out of sight. That was it? Taking it as a queue Tom headed back to his dorm. He was tired, there was no use thinking over it any longer. She was okay, as she had plainly said. She had clearly avoided meeting him. They were done.

Tom fingered the tiny vial in his pocket. He would put it to good use tonight.


	34. Graduation

Ch. 34 Graduation

June 24, 1945

He was absolutely basking in the attention. People flocked towards him, wanting to have a word with the esteemed headboy, graduating at the top of his class.

"Our department could use a wizard of your caliber," the head of the Department of Magical Law and Enforcement was telling him. His daughter, a Gryffindor also in his graduating class stood behind him shyly. "Between you and me, your your N.E.W.T. scores were impeccable, The best, infact. I've heard a lot good things about you, Riddle. Now, if you ever consider working for the ministry, you come and find me," he finished.

"Do you see that Tom? They're actually falling over themselves to get you!" Lestrange crowed, hooking his arm around his friends neck, pulling him away from a flock of 5th year girls that were coming their way.

They wandered toward the edge of the black lake, leaving the mass behind them.

"Wally!" Lestrange exclaimed suddenly, grabbing the bouquet of flowers (a gift from a shy first year) from Tom's grasp. "I got these for you," he shouted, ditching Tom to run after the glaring girl.

"Tom, I've been looking for you."

Tom turned to see Nott stalking lazily toward him, hands in pocket.

"I didn't know your father was coming. You know, he really- And you didn't know either, apparently," Nott surmised, his brow raised.

Tom closed his mouth promptly. Then-

"You have been misinformed, Nott. My father is-"

"-standing right over there," Nott interrupted, nodding his head towards a small group conversing under the shade of a willow tree further down the lake.

Nott was looking down at his feet, kicking around the dirt with his shiny shoes.

"Malfoy spotted him first. I thought he was barking but..." Nott looked up to see Tom squinting at the trio. From the distance Tom could see his father in a cloak, gesturing as he talked and Malfoy's blond head nodding enthusiastically. Another cloaked figure stood behind his father, watching the two.

"Well, go on then."

Tom nodded and straightened out his robes before walking down towards the group.

"Tom!" his father called, "I've been getting to know your friend here, this Braxley, fellow-"

"It's Abraxes, sir."

"I... was unaware that you would be coming today," Tom carefully. His eyes met Hermione's. "And I must confess, I... why are you here?" he asked pointedly at her, almost rudely. "You didn't have to come."

"T-Tom!" his father exclaimed, "That's no way to treat an old friend! What's gotten into you?" He turned to Hermione apologetically.

"No, he's right, I-"

"Nonsense, Tom, I asked her to come, else how should I arrive here on my own?"

"As I understand it, we agreed it was unnecessary for you to come."

"You decided that, Tom, I'm perfectly comfortable here. Besides I throw one of these cloaks on and nobody knows I'm not a wizard."

"You mean to say you're a muggle?"Abraxas joked, feigning shock.

He received a rather nasty look from Tom.

"Don't worry, Tom, I won't be staying long. I just hoped to catch you before leaving. I admit I lost sight of you after the ceremony. That was magnificent, the bit with the blue lights and the rope, I reckon your grandfather would have paid a fortune to see it."

"Is he still unwell?" Tom asked.

"Oh I reckon it will pass, as these things usually do, you know.

By the way, why the bother with these robes?" Tom Sr. asked, tugging his cloak's hood down and changing the subject. "It's boiling out here, isn't it? It seems a bit silly, wouldn't you say?"

"Actually," Abraxas butt in. "These robes are a-"

Tom cut him off, "There was something you wanted to tell me?"

" I understand. Why you were always eager to leave home. To come here. Why you weren't thrilled with the idea of me coming here."

Hermione watched them carefully, How Tom listened to his father's words intently. They made a mirrors image of hollow cheeks and ebony hair. Even their heights were similar, towering over her.

"I know our world's are different. That I would never feel fully comfortable in your world as you could not in mine. I know you have your own place now, but you know you always have a place at home. Don't forget that, and visit sometimes," he said, patting his son's shoulder.

"Well, I'll be leaving now, I'm sure there are many people you'll need to see to," Tom Sr. said before offering his arm to Hermione.

"Congratulations, Tom," Hermione said hesitantly with a forced smile for pleasantries sake as Tom Sr. exchanged words with the first friend of his son's he had ever met.

She faltered when he didn't respond and she grimaced.

She accepted his father's arm turned to lead them off ground. She had hoped they could talk things out , but it was clear he wouldn't even look at her. She would have to use the time turner to go back and make sure they never met on the stairwell that night.

They walked back towards the castle, her grip on his arm tightened, and Tom Sr. placed his hood back in place as they entered the crowd.

"Jean!"

Hermione dared to look back but couldn't spot the owner of the voice. She looked at Tom Sr. and she wondered if he had heard it too. He was lost to the crowd and she was not even sure if he had called her name at all.

Tom hurried after them, ignoring as his classmates and professors approached him, eager to get in a word with the brightest student Hogwart's had had since Albus Dumbledore graduated one hundred years prior.

"Jean."

A hand perched on her shoulder from behind, then quickly retracted. Then Tom was in front of her, towering over her slight frame.

"I-, I can't talk right now. About the other-" he saw his father watching them curiously.

"Let's talk later. Not here," he told her.

"Do you think we should?" Hermione asked, surprised. Even after the events that had unfolded that night?

"Of course," he said sharply, his eyes narrowing at her.

Tom Sr. now became very interested in a bird flying about in it's picture frame down the next corridor, which gave Tom time to finish his conversation.

"However, right now is not a good time for that."

"I could meet you later tonight?" she tried. "At the manor?"

He nodded stiffly, leaving her without another word.

The graveling sound of rocks and small pebbles as his classmates clambered onto them grated at Tom's ears. They lead themselves to a kind of underground harbor where a fleet of little boats sat in the water. Tom was followed into his boat by Lestrange and Avery. Abraxas joined them last.

Then, the fleet of little boats moved off all at once and they were carried along a dark tunnel, which lead right out from underneath the castle. They all bent their heads as the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy into the black lake.

Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them at first, before shrinking into the distance as they glided across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Much too soon, they reached the edge of the lake and they exited, taking a narrow path that was lined on either side with thick trees to Hogsmeade platform.

Then it was just them. Tom and his year, all together for the last time. Alone, they said their goodbyes and made plans to keep in touch over the summer.

He decided a last drink together at the Hogheads would not be amiss. With his friends surrounding him, they made their way to Hogsmeade village, along with a few others from the graduating class.

"Careful, Lestrange, your jealous is showing."

"Bugger off." He said scowling as his skin turned a vibrant shade of green. "Which one of you did it," he demanded to know, getting up from the pristine, white couch. He grabbed a goose down pillow and chucked it in no particular direction, before giving up and sprawling out across and wrinkling the linen.

Tom had been eying the grand clock throughout the night. It was well past midnight, meaning it was well past the time he should have left to make his prior engagement with Jean. Instead, here he was at Malfoy's Manor, not doing anything in particular. Nothing besides sitting in Abraxas' posh living room, drinking his dead father's posh wines. Before them on the marble coffee table sat a collection of twenty or so bottles of the finest wines and liquors.

So maybe he should have said no when Abraxas invited the lot of Slytherins over to trash his father's house. Instead he had helped apparate when Nott, drunk and staggering had fallen into him.

Besides it wasn't like Tom hadn't spent countless, endless days waiting for the times when Jean decided to bless him with her presence. She could stand to wait the night out, Tom decided.

He took another sip of amber from his goblet. His solid gold goblet.

"Hoggy Hoggy Hoggywarts... Teach me please..."

A thump followed by a girlish giggle sounded from a dark corner from the far side of the room.

"Hoggy- Bloody hell, how about leaving, yeah?" Lestrange yelled, jumping up, "Who invited them, anyways?"

Tom squinted. He wished Lestrange would shut up, he was being terribly noisy.

There was a loud crash and the tinkling of breaking glass as Lestrange hurled a bottle at the couple. There were several gasps and the red haired witch sitting on Abraxas' lap squealed loudly.

"How dreadfully wasteful," Abraxas said, clucking his tongue.

The redhead giggled.

"You little shit," Orion seethed. He ignored Walburga who was trying to calm him down and walked down the room to where the gang were seated.

"He's drunk, Black," Tom said.

"Yeah, mate he doesn't mean anything by it," Mulciber said.

"I'm not drunk," Lestrange insisted, " And I'm not getting hard rutting against my cousin's leg either," he said before receiving a socking to the face.

"You're ruining my party," Abraxas whined as the two men wrestled, bumping into shelves and knocking over vases. Tom stood up, followed by Nott and Avery as he left the room. Abraxas followed soon after, having snatched a couple of wines and giving a swift kicking to his father's empty portrait, fallen from the aftermath of the scuffle.

Tom didn't know exactly where he was going, as he had only been to this manor a few times before during holidays. Tom could remember back in their third year, Abraxas bragging in the common room that his house had over a hundred rooms.

He stopped in front of a door shortly and slipped in. A silver chandelier hanging directly from the center of the room burst into light as the boys entered the sitting room. A large window stretching across the adjacent room with it's curtains drawn revealed the inky black night and pale moon.

As they settled in the sitting area Abraxas snapped his fingers and a pair of house elves appeared behind the couch.

"There's mess in the main room. Fix it." Abraxas said, not looking at them.

"And the guests, sir?" the smaller elf squeaked.

Abraxas shrugged. "Tell them to get lost," he said looking at his nails. "This isn't Malfoy Motel."

Then his eyes widened and he turned to look behind the couch, gripping the back cushions.

"Send the redhead to my- no, to the guest room. The usual one."

They bowed deeply before disappearing.

"So..." Abraxas said, swirling his drink in his goblet, "meeting your fa-"

"Have you got somewhere to be Tom?" Avery asked, missing the way Abraxas' hand tightened around his glass. "You've been checking the time all evening." Avery said perceptively.

"Have I?" Tom wondered aloud, closing his pocket watch and shoving it back beneath his robes.

"So you are meeting someone? Surely not at this hour," Nott said.

"I reckon they've stopped waiting," Tom said, his stomach feeling queasy. It would be silly to think Jean would still be waiting. He pictured her sitting on his porch steps, in the dead of night and scoffed. Why hadn't he gone? Tom took a swig from his glass.

"Reckon?" Avery snorted, a brow raised.

"Are you going to take that offer to work at the ministry?" Nott asked.

"Which offer?" Tom asked, smirking, causing a stir of laughter amongst themselves.

"Consider it, Tom," Nott urged, "With you at the ministry, the knights could really take over one day."

It was true, most of them already had spots secured in the ministry with strong connections already in place.

"I have been thinking about it," Tom assured them. "I believe I'll reach an answer soon."

It was true. The way Tom saw it, he had three courses of action. To enter the ministry, to stay behind at Hogwarts and then the path that was most uncertain...and yet the most tantalizing. _Horcrux._ Tom had already discovered days prior during his painfully planned meeting with Headmaster Dippet that the second option was out of the question.

He did not tell his Knights about his meetings with Dippet concerning the teaching position and he had no plans to tell them about the quest for immortality. He could just imagine what they would say.

Tom stretched his legs then stood to leave.

"I'll see you out," Abraxas offered, "And you two should bugger off, eh? Wouldn't want to have to sic the house elves on you," Abraxas called from the hall. "But I will," he muttered to himself, as he lead Tom to the floo.

"Tom," Abraxas said, stopping him before the row of fireplaces. "I told about how my mother really died. And you know what my father was really like. You came with me to the funeral. We're friends, Tom, aren't we? I know all of nothing about your family. If you didn't look like your father's son, I still wouldn't know a hippogriff's shit about him. By the way, you don't have a sister you've never told me about?

Now Tom rolled his eyes, "She's a family friend."

"But she's a witch, isn't she?" Abraxas asked confused.

"That's enough, Abraxas," Tom said firmly, "Besides, I think you've kept Fawley waiting long enough."

He reached into the jar of powder and stepped into the fire place. "Come over one day for dinner, if you want," Tom offered, knowing full well Abraxas would be uncomfortable with it.

"Er, Right then," Abraxas said, rubbing at his neck, as his friend disappeared into flames of green.


	35. Chapter 35

June 30, 1945

Tom hadn't meant to end up in Riddle Manor. He had meant to floo to his new flat in London Underground.

But as he emerged from his family's fireplace, he found he couldn't be bothered to correct the error. He quietly made his way through the house into his room through the darkened halls.

Most of his books and clothes had been moved to his new flat, leaving his room decidedly bare. He rummaged around the large wardrobe until he found a crisp white muggle shirt to change into. Carefully, he hung his graduation garb and placed it in the back corner, knowing he would have no further use for it.

At last he settled on his bed. Only to begin restlessly twisting the ring on his finger. He frowned. He should have gone to her, as they planned. The truth was he had no way of reaching her, he had always known that.

Tom sat up and let his feet lead him out. Barefoot, he crept down the stairs, hands tucked in his pockets. He was just... going to check.  
>He opened the front door, and stepped onto the front deck. The sun was rising and he was met with nothing but the fresh morning dew and the smell of mowed grass.<p>

After a while he headed back inside. He was knackered, the purplish bruises under his eyes could attest to that.  
>He paused at the stairwell, he could have sworn he'd seen a sliver of movement. Gripping his wand in his pocket, he slipped back down the stairs.<p>

"Tom!" Hermione whispered, surprised. She lowered her hood and walked towards him at the staircase, her boots creaking against the floorboards.

"When did you get back?" Hermione whispered, placing her hands on the railing and looking up at him. Hermione had waited for Tom until the late hours of the night. When Tom Sr. offered her a guest room, she couldn't think of a reason to turn him down. She had slept lightly until light had creeped through the curtains.

"Not long ago," Tom responded truthfully, his voice lowered. "I apologize for not keeping our engagement," Tom said, watching her carefully.

"It's quite alright," Hermione said with a shrug. "I thought you might have your reasons," Hermione said dismissing it. "Besides, your father was quite kind enough to offer me a room tonight anyways."

"Why the hurry to leave?" Tom questioned stepping down closer to her.  
>"Best not to stick around," Hermione said.<p>

"As per usual," Tom was quick to jab, " How very much like you."

Hermione blinked and tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. "I had planned on swinging around at a more decent hour to catch you, actually."

Tom was surprised to hear this.  
>"You wouldn't have found me," he whispered.<br>Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion.

"I've my own place now. A flat in the undergrounds," He explained more loudly.

"Oh," Hermione said surprised. "Well, congratulations!" she whispered earnestly. The way she saw it, these changes in the timeline were welcome.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.  
>"I could show you," Tom said hesitantly.<p>

"You mean now?" Hermione asked

"It's nearly a decent hour now you know," Tom pointed out, "If it's not a bother, I'd like to have our talk sooner rather than later."

"You do realize that you're the one who put it off in the first place," she quipped, cocking her head to the side.

He did not deign to respond and she cleared her throat.

"Er, right then," she said, cautiously taking hold his arm offered to her.

She felt Tom's arm twist away from her and re doubled her grip. The next thing she knew everything went black; she was pressed very hard from all directions;she could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around her chest; her eyeballs were being forced back into her head; her ear drums were being pushed deeper into her skull

Without a sound, they apparated out of Riddle Manor.

They appeared inside of a mirrored elevator and Tom pressed the button for the top floor. A woman crooned softly on the Wizarding Wireless Network from a hidden speaker. Hermione released his arm quickly and they stepped into the hall. There was only one door and as Tom neared it a bronze key materialized in his hand.

Inside, the flat was spacious with large windows and shelves upon shelves of books, which even Hermione was finding herself envious of. They sat at a table placed near the kitchen as Tom used his wand to light the stove and set the kettle.

"You were following Dumbledore, weren't you?" Tom asked.

"Professor Dumbledore. And yes, I was."

"And just what is your acquaintance with him?" Tom asked suspiciously.

"I'm not. Acquainted with him." Hermione told him.

"Then why did you enter the castle? How did you enter the castle?"

"That's my private agenda, Tom. You of all people should respect that," was Hermione's cryptic response.

"And that is?" Tom demanded, gesturing to her cloak covered forearm. Her hands tightened around her tea cup.

"A memory or a constant reminder. The word means nothing to me," she said defensively.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a mu-uggle born?"

"Why does it matter?"

"You can't be serious!" Tom shouted angrily. "Who are you! There's not a single file of you at the ministry. You know far too much about me for my liking," he ranted, his eyes gleaming.

Hermione reached under her robe.

"And by the way, just how old are you anyways? You don't look a day over-"  
>She spun the dial…<p>

"Jean?"  
>Hermione blinked. She was still seated at the table.<p>

"Well?" Tom asked expectantly, a steaming cup in hand.

"Milk. And the two sugars, please," Hermione answered meekly.

He gently placed the cup down and sat across from her. She watched as he opened his mouth to speak-

"Have you received many job offers?" She said quickly already knowing the answer.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Recruiters from the ministry have been quite insistent, actually."

"Well, I think that's brilliant."

"Do you?"

"Of course. Think of all the good you could accomplish. The ministry needs turning around. It's flawed and sometimes horribly archaic. We need capable and trustworthy people in positions of power," Hermione insisted.

Precisely how Tom saw it.

"What about you?" Tom questioned.

"What about me?" Hermione asked nervously.

"What have you been doing since the war ended? Where will you go now?" he wanted to know.

"France," Hermione blurted the lie out quickly.

"France," Tom repeated disbelievingly.

"Er-," It was the first place she thought of. Somewhere far away, so she wouldn't risk her cover.

"France, yes.-

-I"

-Stay in England." Tom said, not asked.

"I... I can't," Hermione said startled. "I want a fresh start. I don't want any reminders of the war," she lied. "It's over and I want to forget."

After a moment's thought he said, "Then consider it forgotten."

"What do you mean?"

"I won't ask questions. I won't try to discover your secrets."

"You would really do that?" Hermione asked surprised.

"Yes," Tom said, making sure to hold her gaze. She couldn't know. That he was lying.

. . .

So Hermione had found herself in need of a drink. But she was a responsible witch so she didn't go straight for the firewhiskey.

"A butterbeer? This early, eh?" Aberforth, the barman had said.

The Hog's head was empty bar for them and the little goat running circles around her feet where she was sat at the end of the bar.

The younger Dumbledore brother had left behind the back door of the bar after leaving her glass and a plate of still steaming, home made crumpets.

Tom wanted her to stay? Could she do that? She had always known what she had been getting herself into. She had known that no matter what she tried, it was always possible that she would fail. She had even considered the possibility that she might get stuck in the past or worse, lost in time. And If she was being honest with herself she knew she was not doing as much as she could have been.

But now Tom was asking her to stay. Would this be her life forever? She fingered the turner around her neck. Every single time she had gone back to her time, Tom had still been the same. Maybe this needed to be done. Perhaps if she had not been so reliant on her time turner, not so reluctant to help Tom, the futures would have been different.

She took a swig of her creamy drink. Then she groaned, lying her head on her arms over the bar.

"This is madness," she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

She felt a lick at her ankle.

She wanted to go home.

Wherever that was.


	36. Chapter 36

December 1, 1946

Hermione took one last look around the shop. The new order of books had been neatly shelved, the floor swept and the plants by the window watered. She nodded to herself before slipping on her warm petticoat and wrapping a bright knit scarf around her neck. She opened the shop door and the chiming of bells met her ears.

The chilly winter air hit her as she locked the door of Screed and Sons. Thin layers of snow covered dreary London as she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, she headed directly toward the stairwell, passing the crowd of witches in the wizards in the bar to her room. It was small, but with time Hermione had made it homely with a knitted tea cozy, the small collection of books she had obtained stacked neatly on a stool in the corner and the plant that was growing monstrously in size sitting on the window sill. With a warm cup of tea she snuggled into the squishy arm chair she had transfigured from one of Mrs. Weasley's sweaters and began to read till her eyes could open no longer.

Ever since the winters arrival, Hermione had been finding it harder and more harder to keep optimistic. How long would she be here? The uncertainty of her future was been eating away at her. She had no friends to speak of save for Tom and the no one could get too close to her save for the Riddles. She could have no acquaintances in this time.

Hermione was lonely and she was tired. Tired of working as a bookkeeper when what she really wanted was to be in the ministry, making a change. Of course that was impossible. Hermione Granger did not exist here. Jean Grant did. And Jean Grant was a bookkeeper, friendly and helpful to the muggles that entered her shop.

But Hermione persevered through it, in the hopes that this sacrifice would be worth it when she returned to her future one day.

She awoke to the sound of tapping glass and slowly opened her eyes to the sunlight flooding the room. She stumbled from the chair where she had fallen asleep to the window. A dark feathered eagle owl hovered outside her window. She unlatched the lock and slid open the window, a chilly breeze waking her. With an eyebrow cocked, she accepted the napkin as the owl released it from its claw before flying back out the window. She unscrolled the fabric curiously.

_Jean, You're late._

"I'm late…" Hermione mumbled in sleepy confusion. Her eyes wandered to the clock and-

"I'm late!" She gasped, suddenly in a flurry to wash up and change. It was nearly a quarter past their scheduled weekend lunch. She skidded into the bathroom and changed into a clean blouse and pulled her hair back into a bun.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she pulled on her coat. She had nearly forgotten.

She rummaged through her drawer and retrieved her pouch of money and grit her teeth, determined to pay this time.

She apparated inside of Brews and Stews Cafe and spotted him seated at a mahogany booth. As she neared she noticed the pouty curve of his lip.

"Sorry. I've made you wait again," she said, sliding into the booth across from him. Her eyes narrowed in surprise as she took in his ruffled appearance. Or at least as ruffled as Riddle could be. A lock of hair out of place, his shirt lapel rumpled, and most noticeable the deep violet bruises under his eyes.

"And yet here I still find myself annoyed despite the frequency of these occurrences," he said swottily, straightening in his chair. Hermione rolled her eyes, wishing she could retract the apology.

"Our lunches have gone could now," Tom accused grumpily, gesturing to the plates.

"As it happens, I'm a witch," Hermione retorted as she cast a warming charm over her plate. "Are you a wizard or not?" she asked with a delicate eyebrow arched.

He sneered in response.

"How was work?"

Hermione found she enjoyed listening to him talk about it. It served as a reminder that Tom was changing. He wasn't working at Borgin and Burkes after all. No, he was working in the ministry and from what she could see, he was making quite a name for himself.

Hermione always asked him this.

He told her of office drivel, the trial he was following closely, and how the departments were falling over their feet trying to recruit him.

"By the way," he said, conjuring sheets of parchment and holding it out to her, "There's a position vacant in the department of Magical laws and regulations," he said looking expectantly her. "Nothing too heavy. Just basic filing and desk work. It's not a bad place to start, you know."

Hermione accepted the papers carefully, taking in the ministry seal at the top and skimming through it.

"Thank you, Tom," she said slowly, folding it neatly and slipping it into her pocket. "I'll think about it."

He watched her closely and frowned. Hermione saw him struggle with whether or not to hold back. He didn't.

"You have no intention of looking at that again, do you?" Tom asked frustrated.

_Not again_, Hermione thought.

"What exactly is it you do with the applications I give you anyways, Jean?" Tom asked angrily. "I don't suppose you use them for kindle," he said sarcastically.

"That's not fair, Tom," Hermione argued. "I've told you before that I'm not interested. I wish you would listen to me when I tell you I _like_ my job."

"You can't be serious," Tom insisted, still, "You can't possibly work as a part time keeper for a muggle book store forever. You must want more."

They were glaring at each other now, neither cared if the other diners happened to stare.

"You are really impossible," Tom finally ground out, his fist clenched on his knees.

Hermione scoffed. "_Me?_ you're the one meddling in business that doesn't concern you!" she hissed.

Tom opened his mouth to retort but no words would come out. He shut it promptly.

By now they both knew each were perfectly aware that Hermione had no records at the ministry. But neither of the spoke of it. And he couldn't, not after he had promised not to pry. At least not yet, he wouldn't. And so, he decided, his fist clenching ever more tightly, he would drop it. For now.

And Hermione would be thankful for that.

"Alright then, we'll agree to disagree," he said simply, acting uncaring. Hermione watched as his body relaxed and relieved, she did too.

"Honestly Tom, I really do appreciate your concern. But I'm happy with my job," she lied.

"If you say so," he said tight lipped and still unconvinced.

Hermione forced a small smile of her own.

"How is your grand father?"

She knew that these days, Tom visited his family's manor often. His father had been wrong when he said the illness would pass. It had only gotten so much worse.

"There haven't been any improvements. There isn't much the muggle doctors are able to do... I've suggested magical medical treatment," Tom said.

"I don't suppose Mary is keen on the idea, is she?" Hermione predicted.

"Thinks it unnatural," Tom confirmed, frustrated, "But I'll need to do some more research before I bring it up again. I'm not quite sure if even magic has a cure for his ailing heart."

Thomas Riddle would have needed an assessment from professional mediwizard to determine what kind of treatment they would be looking at.

"If you need any help with research, I'd be happy to assist you," she told Tom and she meant it.

"I'll let you know," he said with a nod.

When it came time to pay, Hermione had to insist.

"But you've payed the last three times," Hermione pointed out, ashamed, "It isn't all fair of me now, is it?"

"Nonsense, it's only natural that I should," he said, and Hermione wondered if he could be more arrogant.

"And why is that?" Hermione asked offended.

"Well for one thing, Money is hardly an issue for me."

Hermione felt her eye twitch.

"And for another, I _am _usually the one who initiates our lunches, As a gentleman, its only right that I pay if I call upon you.

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"I'll have you know, I am perfectly well endowed in the financial department, thank you. And I am not some call girl," she bit out, "Our meetings are mutual, I li-," she stopped abruptly. And as she saw his eyebrow slowly rise she felt her cheeks blush pink.

"You like what, exactly?" Tom asked leering.

Hermione blinked, then she dropped her galleons onto the table, head held high…

Before quickly grabbing her coat and sliding out from the booth. As the coins sunk into the table, disappearing, a cheshire grin spread across his lips and he followed Hermione out into the cold streets.

Hermione did like the chaste meetings with Tom.

Only because she was lonely and he was often available, she told herself this.

She was ready to tell Tom to get lost when he looped his arm in hers and pulled her into apparition.

Short of breath, she landed beside him in his flat.

"What do you think you're doing!" Hermione demanded.

Tom gestured to a neat stack of book at the center of his glass topped coffee table.

"I was hoping to get a head start on the research," Tom explained.

Hermione's anger quickly faded to be replaced with excitement.

"You know I'm quite popular at the ministry these days, very busy," Tom was saying, but she didn't hear. She looked up at him, and when she smiled it was genuine.

Meanwhile, Tom's cocky smirk was faltering and _maybe, perhaps_ his stone heart was fluttering.

. . .

December 2 , 1946

It was an ungodly hour. Tom stumbled in front of his fireplace, the haze of sleep leaving him as his heart pumped wildly. What was wrong? He fell into the flames, ready to find out.

"Oh Tom!" Mary exclaimed as she clung to his robes. Tom squinted from the brightness of the lit room. "Frank is- Frank he's- he's dead. Oh, the poor, poor boy. It was so awful, Tom, that h-horrid fiend! He came round here and he- he-," she couldn't finish and instead dragged him from the fire place and into the entrance hall.

His eyes widened at the sight before him, he had expected... well he had just woken up, so he did not know what he was expecting but it had not been… this.

"Tom, you're here! I had thoughts to go to the constables but…-"

His father, shaken, rose from the ground, where he had been attempting to coax away the grieving maid Bryce from her son who lay bleeding out on on the gleaming hardwood. The Door was in pieces, it splintered shards scattered across the floor.

"...- Perhaps in this case…" his voice trailed off and Tom followed his father's gaze to a slumped form sprawled in the corner.

"Morfin," Tom hissed lowly.

"You knew?" Tom Sr. gasped, surprised.

"I was curious," Tom brushed it off. "And you are right," Tom said, looking up at his father. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will handle this."

Tom strode back to the fireplace and combed his fingers through his hair before making his firecall.

He looked around the room first before drawing his wand and lighting the fireplace. Orange flames burst forth and crackled.

"Diggory," Tom called, crouching beside the fire.

He could hear some grumbling and a few choice words. "Riddle? Merlin, this had better be good.

"I'm calling in... a favor," Tom said.

"My family was attacked in their home tonight and another muggle was murdered. The wizard (Tom loathed to grace Morfin with the title) has been subdued. He's had a stint in Azkaban before, Morfin Gaunt. I want him gone. Permanently. I also suspect a memory charm will be necessary for a muggle witness."

There was a great silence save for the crackling of burning wood as Diggory took this all in. Then, "Right-o Tom. I'll be there faster than you can say azkaban, but-,"

"I want this done quietly. The less aurors involved the better."

"Of course, we can't have any gossip flying around the ministry now, can we… But I'll have to let Ogden know.

"I expected as much," Tom said, nodding.

The flames when out and Tom stood back, ignoring the quiet sobs of Mrs. Bryce coming from down the hall. Tom's heart was beating very quickly, but he didn't notice. Instead he was thinking furiously. What if… what if Morfin had…

Tom's blood boiled as he considered how this night could have ended very differently. And what of Frank? The man was not much older than Tom.

Where was Diggory, damnit? Hadn't he said faster than-

"Azkaba-," he started before quickly clearing his throat as the hearth roared and flashed green, Diggory stepping hurriedly out of the flames followed shortly by a short plump man wearing enormously thick glasses.

"Diggory, Head Auror Ogden, this way, please," Tom said, leading them out of the living room.

Diggory looked around the lavish room in interest as he followed.

"Morfin Gaunt is it? I remember this one. Caused a right stir in the department years ago, before my promotion, and- I say! It's this chap again!" Ogden exclaimed pointing a gnarled finger as they entered the entrance way.

Tom Sr. blanched, "Ag-gain?" he stuttered, 'What do you mean _again_?" Tom Sr. questioned, eyes wide, though by the way he said it, perhaps he did not really wish to know.

"Oh dear," Ogden was saying, as he took in the weeping mother and her dead son.

"Please describe what's transpired here, Mr. Riddle," Ogden asked as he approached Morfin's crumpled form.

"He- He came out from that hovel of his is what. Nearly tore down the door, pounding and yelling till it finally gave in. And, and then Frank, he tried to stop him from entering further. When I came down, he, he-" Tom Sr. gestured wildly, flinging his arms in the air.

"And, and- so I had to stop him and I, well I grabbed that stick of wood there and I, why I popped him a good one over the head!"

Ogden crouched beside Morfin and with a wave of his wand glowing shackles bound the murderer's wrists. Another wave of his wand and the shards levitated off the floor before flying back into place, mending the door.

There was a gasp and then a startled shriek. The maids tear streaked face turned ghastly white, her sobbing finally ended from shock. Her mouth agape, she looked to the young master Riddle and then his father searching for answers, and faltering at their unfazed expressions.

"Fulton, if you would," Ogden implored.

"Right away sir."

And with that Diggory lead the stunned maid out of the hall for a memory alteration.

"She will be alright, won't she, Tom?" Tom Sr. asked concerned.

Before Tom could tell his father that Diggory was in fact one of the department's highest ranking Aurors and was known to cast a mean obliviate charm, Ogden answered first.

"She'll be as fine as one can be, after losing a son. But the fine details," Ogden said, as he crouched down to pick up Morfin's crusty wand for evidence, "will be lost to her. You see, lad, it won't have been a slicing hex that killed her son, but instead a knife wound," he explained, putting his hand on Tom Sr.'s shoulder.

"Just as you believe it was a swarm of bees that caused you to break into hives all those years ago," he finished.

"I...-what-!?" Tom Sr. sputtered.

"Oh, it's just dreadful," Ogden said, his frown deepening his wrinkles. "Such a young fellow, too. And I'll tell you, I insisted this Gaunt character be put away longer than he was. Only three years, it was hogwash! And I had told the jury so!"

Diggory re-entered the hall, having sent Mrs. Bryce to sleep. He approached Frank's, body, and fixed him up, before encasing him in white sheets, while Ogden propped Morfin up to apparate.

"Now, Tom, don't you worry, this case has closed itself." Ogden said, catching his glasses from sliding down his nosed as he struggled to keep Morfin up.

With a pop they were gone.

"The constables will have to be...informed," Diggory said, twirling his wand.

"If you could also take care of the body-," Tom began to ask of Diggory.

"No, that quite enough you've done. I'll do it myself," Tom's father said thickly, "I owe him this much, surely," he said determined.

"Father," Tom was ready to object, but to his credit, Tom Sr. was adamant.

"I'll bring him to the funeral house myself. The boy served this family his whole life. That is my final say."

Tom wasn't happy with this. His father was clearly shaken. And to have to move the dead body at this hour?

"Then I'll assist you," Tom said, stepping towards his father. "No, I'll be fine. I want you to stay here and check on Mother, she went up to Father's Room. I am afraid this is too much for her age to take."

Tom paused, conflicted. He made eye contact with Diggory who gave a slight nod of his head.

"You go on Tom, I'll assist... Mr. Riddle, here," Diggory said.

Tom grudgingly agreed, frowning and made his way up the stairwell, wish this would all end soon.


	37. Chapter 37

December 11, 1946

Hermione was stood at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Merlin help her, she was scared. She shouldn't be here and had even painstakingly avoided these kinds of situations for the past year. But now there was something even more worrisome to add to her fears. Afterall, who would ever want to be the sorry witch that had to tell Tom, temperamental and unsteady as he was, that his grandfather was dead?

Grimacing, she drew her hood and joined the throng, wending her way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases; still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked.

Jostled slightly by the crowd, Hermione managed to get through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. She joined the smallest crowd around one of them.

With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Hermione stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and cornered herself against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at her curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, gripping her wand in her pocket as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while a cool female voice rang out.

'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.'

The lift doors opened. Hermione glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced:

'Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.'

Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Hermione stared up at them as they flapped idly around above her head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see Ministry of Magic stamped along the edge of their wings.

As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling.

'Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau.

When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it.

'Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.'

A witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor left

the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again.'Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre.'

Everybody left the lift on this floor except Hermione and another remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement.

'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.'

The lift doors opened. Hermione glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. The last wizard in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor.

The doors closed and alone now, Hermione let out a shaky breath. The elevator was at a standstill and this time the woman's voice did not call out. Chewing her lip, she hesitated before reaching a finger towards the row of shiny, polished buttons, entering Tom's floor number. The lift juddered upwards before rocketing upwards. She gasped as her knees buckled slightly and she grasped for the hand rail against the wall behind her.

The lift stopped abruptly and the doors opened with no announcement.

Righting herself, she patted down her loose locks before stepping off the lift. The hall was quiet and only lead one way.

She passed a window through which sunlight was streaming despite the fact that she was turned a corner, and walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a sparse, open area divided by a few cubicles, which were humming with quiet conversations held on great, antique dialphones and quills scratching on parchment.

A smoky grey-robed man with a ponytail longer than Ron's brother Bill's was sitting with his shiny boots up on his desk, was talking into an engraved phone piece in the far left corner. Behind him, was a large door with the name, Tom Riddle, extravagantly leafed in gold.

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat but no one paid her any mind. Making up her mind, her mission was time sensitive afterall, she gathered her wits about her and started towards the door.

"-Unless you have an appointment, which you don't, I would know, you can not be permitted to enter Mr. Riddles quarters." The tawny- haired man uncovered the mouthpiece he had been shielding with his hand when he had addressed her and turned back to it, "And don't take too long, Buchanan, the delay on that illegal magical substances report held our investigation up for a month," He said before hanging up the phone.

"Now, if the matter is of the utmost importance, I may be able to schedule you an appointment set at a later time, however, if that is not the case, I am must inform you that Mr. Riddle is dealing with matters that are, and he has made it clear that he is not to be disturbed." The young man, who could be called a man just barely, lowered his boots off the desk and rose to meet her. "I am Tom's assistant," he added as an afterthought.

Hermione blinked.

"Err, well, I'm Tom's… friend." she said lamely. "I tried to reach his floo earlier but he must have closed it off. I absolutely must see him."

The assistant had a funny look on his face, perhaps she had pushed it by calling herself Tom's friend. After all, Tom didn't exactly keep that sort of company.

"Look," Hermione said, backing towards the doors, "I'll only need a second, Tom will tell you…"

Her hand grasped the gold handle.

"You can't-!"

Hermione looked in to see a short passageway, at the end was an arching door standing ajar. Without a second look back she continued down in quick strides and burst into the room.

Tom's office was immaculate and seemed to be only slightly larger than the whole of the Gryffindor common room. A large oak desk centered the room while large dark cabinets and shelves filled with files and tomes lined the walls.

Sitting on top of Tom's overflowing in-coming mail tray was an timepiece whose hands were spinning erratically in the wrong direction. In the only bits of wall that were not covered by shelves, there were long windows, overlooking the ministry's atrium.

And in the corner…

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Oh shite," Abraxes expelled as her heard someone enter the room. He corked the crystal bottle fast as lightening and shoved it behind the cushion of the armchair he had been lounging on. Tom was back early, he wracked his brain for an excuse. He looked up and his brow raised.

"You're Jean Grant," He said, rising from his seat. "I've seen you once or twice, though Tom has never bothered to introduce us. Abraxas Malfoy," He said offering her his hand to shake, just as Tom's assistant drew behind her.

"Malfoy? What are _you_ doing in here?" The assistant demanded confused. "_Watch your tongue, Thicknesse_." Abraxas said sharpish, his manner turning cold. "It's Mr. Malfoy to you and don't you forget it."

Hermione watched, stunned, as Thicknesse's jaw clenched.

"Leave."

Eyes narrowing, Thicknesse looked back between Hermione and abraxas before retreating.

"It's become so hard to find good help these days," Abraxas said nonchalantly, breaking the silence.

Hesitantly she took his hand to shake.

She drew it back quickly before asking, "Where is Tom? And… what _are_ you doing here?"

"He's away on classified business. He should be back this afternoon. Is there something, perhaps, that I may be able to assist you with?" He asked, ignoring her latter question.

"Not in the slightest," she said dryly, "Unless your assistance would involve telling me where to find Tom this instant," she paused before saying, "His grandfather has passed."

"Oh dear," Abraxas said, frowning.

"It was terribly sudden and now the house is in a right state," She said, hoping Abraxas would point her in the right direction.

"I can get Tom for you," Abraxas said suddenly.

Hermione brightened a bit, "Really?" she asked, "That would be ever so helpful,-"

"I'll send him to you, and you will tell him what's happened," he cut her off. He certainly wasn't going to be the one bearing the brunt of however Tom happened to react.

"How very Slytherin of you," she thought aloud before she could stop herself.

Abraxas just shrugged. "Perhaps, but either way, he'll no doubt take it better if it's coming from you," He said, as he stepped into a black marble fireplace.

"We'll meet again, I'm sure," he said, before he left in a flicker of flames.

. . .

He was in the sitting room of Hepzibah Smith, an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. The room was so crammed with objects that it had been difficult to navigate his way across it without knocking over a dozen thing: There were cabinet full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold- embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. In fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.

On the nearest little table was a crystal vase holding the roses he had produced from nowhere for her. Again, she insisted that she shouldn't have. Before them on a coffee table was a tray of little white cakes, which he hated, though he told her otherwise.

"Oh, Tom," she was saying, battering her lashes, "It was by stroke of luck that we meet at Theodore's wedding, wouldn't you say?"

"Luck, indeed," said Tom quietly.

"Mr. Burke is forever sending the boy over, he's after my trinkets, I tell you!" she said pouting.

"He in only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes him to inquire-"

"Oh Mr. Burke phooey!" said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell your friend Mr. Nott that I've got it? If Mr. Burke found out he'd never let me rest. I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many gallons it would fetch for."

Tom's insides, twisted.

"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Tom quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.

"I had Hoekey bring it out for me… Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure. In fact, bring both, while you're at it,"

The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.

"Here, madam," squeaked the the house-elf, and Tom saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, pouffes and footstools.

"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom… Oh, if my family knew I was showing you… They can't wait to get their hands on this!"

She opened the lid. Tom edged forward a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.

"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah, and Tom stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. There was a red gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah's face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Tom's handsome features.

"A badger," murmured Tom, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then his was…?"

"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" said Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek.

Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here…"

She hooked the cup back off Tom's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Tom's face as the cup was taken away.

"Right then," said Hepzibah happily, "where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are- take that away now, Hokey."

The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap.

"I think you'' like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see… Of course, Burke knows I've got his one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone…"

She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket.

Tom reached out his hand, without invitation this time, and held it up to the light, staring at it.

"Slytherin's mark," he said quietly, as the light played upon and ornate, serpentine S.

"That's right!" said Hepzibah, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Tom gazing at her locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, no a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value-"

There was no mistaking it this time: Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet at the words, and his knuckles whitened harshly on the locket's chain.

"-I daresay Burke paid her a pittance but there you are… Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe…"

She reached out to take the locket back. For a moment, Tom thought of not letting it go, but then there was an itch on his arm and it slid through his fingers and was back in its red velvet cushion.

"So there you are, Tom, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"

She looked him full in the face and for the first time, Tom saw her foolish smile falter.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Oh yes," Tom murmured, "yes, I'm very well…"

" I thought- but a trick of the light, I suppose-" said Hepzibah, looking unnerved, "But you do look pale. They overwork you at the ministry, I've said it a hundred times…"

Tom smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.

"Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again. The usual enchantment…"

The tiny elf bobbed away bearing the boxes.

Tom frowned, while Hepzibah was turned away and he tugged at his sleeve as the itching persisted. Why was Abraxas calling him _now?_ The wizard knew very well what Tom was doing and how crucial this moment meeting was. Never mind the fact he had gotten everything he needed.

. . .

Alone now, and feeling especially giddy, Tom pointed the tip of his wand to his forearm. He was sucked into nothingness.

His feet met the ground, and he was stood inside the Malfoys sitting room, where his Knights of Walpurgis convened. He found Abraxas sitting stiffly on the chaise lounge, and smiled widely, he couldn't help himself, as he watched the blonde poorly mask his nervousness.

"Tom," Abraxas greeted, standing up. Honestly, he was a bit worried, and it only grew as he took in the state Tom was in.

"Well?" Tom asked.

"A miss Jean Grant came to see you in your office earlier. She says she's been searching for you all morning."

Abraxas wouldn't have thought it possible, but Tom's smile stretched even further. Shite.

"She'll be waiting for you in your office," he called out, but Tom was already halfway to his floo.

. . .

Hermione started as the fireplace roared to life. She had been pacing in circles in front of Tom's desk frantically.

"Tom! Oh honestly, where have you been?" she exclaimed, rushing towards him.

She frowned confused, seeing him so… happy.

"Tom…?"

"Tom!"

He was leaning in close, closer, until…

Tom's lips pressed against her gently. Her eyes widened and she watched as his fluttered closed.

This didn't make sense. Why was he suddenly…He had never shown _this_ kind of interest in her before.

She stood perfectly still, frozen and tense. Her heart beat wildly, her mind blank.

Tom slowly pulled away, finally, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear before dropping his hand back to his side.

His smile had faded, and his face was relaxed, as he waited for her to make any response. But she was just stood frigid.

"Jean?"

"No," she muttered. "I don't understand," she told him, her voice shaky.

He took her hand in his and looked her in the eye. "You and I could be something greater," he told her quietly.

"Jean," he told her, "After we find a treatment for my grandfather, I'm going to leave England. I want you to come with me."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, "Are you mad?"

She wondered briefly why she was asking him a question she already knew the answer to.

"It's not uncommon for wizards to travel after they've graduated, I've made my mark in the ministry, my position will still be here whence I've returned."

"Say you'll come with me," he went on. "I can't imagine leaving you here," he said, his eyes imploring her.

He was absolutely serious, she realized. The shock was fading and the gravity of his words were setting in. Her senses hit her like a bludger.

"Tom, you can't leave. Oh...," she paused biting her lip, "something awful's happened. It's why I've been trying to find you all morning."

"Go on," he implored her, seeing her struggle to tell him.

"It's, It's your grandfather, Tom," she said, her eye beginning to glisten.

"He, He's passed," she told him, her voice starting to tremble.

There was a silence, save for Hermione's faint sniffling. Then-

"That's not possible," Tom said, his voice hard. "I saw him just a few days ago, he was just… The doctors said there was at least a couple of months left. We were supposed to find a cure," he told her, disbelieving.

Hermione could only shake her head, feeling as though this was somehow her fault, as large tear swelled in her eyes, .

At the sight of them he straightened, and dropped her hand, finally accepting her words.

"How long?" he asked her sharply.

"They found him early this morning. They think he died in his sleep, peacefully. I was sent to find you since…"

"We'll need to leave to the manor now," he said finally.

Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded, following him cautiously to the floo. She held his hand when he offered it, though he wouldn't look at her. He stared straight ahead as she sidled next to him, gripping his hand tightly. She looked up at him, his brow creased slightly in poorly hidden… anger and as well he had his jaw tightly clenched.

It scared her. She wanted to runaway and to hide. But mostly, she didn't understand why, she found she wanted to comfort him. Without thought and without hesitation. she raised herself on the toes of her boots and placed a chaste kiss on his hollow jaw, before pulling away quickly, embarrassed.

His features faltered and he looked back at her though she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Perhaps some part of her had thought his kiss had been… nice.

Maybe she was just crazy.

She felt his hand tighten around hers.

What had she gotten herself into?

. . .

hello.

I started this chapter a week ago but the file didn't save and i was crushed. I couldn't bring myself to write it again because i had likes it so much. But its finally hit me that i'm leaving home, since i am starting college soon and so I will not be updating this story until whenever i get back home (thanksgiving? christmas?) I thought I should at least wrap this up for you guys. So all day i've been typing and I've gotten up to chapter forty(the last chapter for this part of the timeline). I will be posting them up this week. Thankyou for following this story and again, I'm sorry. Also thank you for your comments and input! When is started this story i had 20 chapters already scrawled out in a notebook and I thought writing this would be so easy but I've just had so many ideas and now this is what happens. I'll try to write while i'm in school and hopefully when i get back home during break I'll have a bunch of chapters to share with you.


	38. Chapter 38

December 14, 1946

In the funeral parlour that evening, Tom keeps as far away from the coffin as he can. It's warm and there's a strange smell. He feels faint, wonders if it's the embalming fluid. His father and grandmother stand near him. People approach, single file, to shake hands and tell him they are sorry for his troubles. They know nothing about his troubles.

The final sympathiser is gently ushered out of the room by the priest, who says 'Let's give the family some private time,' and closes the door. He catches Hermione's eye as she leaves the room last.

Tom Sr. and Mary bow their heads as if in prayer, while Tom moves closer to the coffin and takes a last look at his grandfather's chalky face.

A wave of grey hair has been gelled and carefully combed over one side of the dead man's high forehead and Luke wonders who had the courage to take such a liberty. Indeed, the old man looks peaceful, even in death.

In the church, repetitious prayers are half-said. The coffin, hand crafted from elm, has been brought here from the funeral parlour where it will stay until the funeral mass. Tom kneels in a front pew with his father and grandmother. The kneelers are cushioned in soft green leather.

The removal is finally over. Tom overhears a stout, muggle woman talking in a low knowing voice to a smaller lady in a beige coat.

'They say he went very quick in the end… jus' like that,' she says.

Tom goes out for air. As he stands outside the back door, Hermione emerges.

'How're you holding up?' she asks.

'It's… weird… I just needed to clear my head a bit,' he says frowning as a light drizzle began to fall from the sky.

Tom escorts Hermione back into the church shortly after, as more people arrive. More smiles. More handshakes. Tom's hand begins to ache.

"Down in the old- it's all true, what they say, by god!" Tom hears a soft voice gasps.

He sees a slender woman, standing by his father's side, with curly blonde hair hanging in a long braid over one shoulder. Her eyes, a bit red, are opened wide, and Tom thinks she looks as if she's just taken a slap to the face. She notices him staring and she lowered her eyes, embarrassed, a blush creeping to her cheeks.

Tom has seen her before.

"Tom," his father says, as Tom approaches them, making sure to mask his weariness, "Let me introduce you to...Miss Cecilia Young."

Tom Sr. himself was feeling quite anxious. He had not seen Cecilia since two winter ago, when her aunt had passed away. Tom Sr. had traveled down to Windsor to attend the service with his parent while Tom had been away in school

Tom paused before saying, "It's a shame we meet under these unfortunate circumstances."

Cecilia was unsure if what he was saying was meant genuinely or if she should be feeling scandalized. In the end she chooses to raise her head higher and she tells him, "Indeed."

"What is it that they all say," Toms demands, referring to her earlier comment, the one she had not meant for him to hear.

For a moment, she does look scandalized, but she quickly pulls herself together. She turns to his father, her wide blue eyes piercing into his when she says solemnly, "That you were made in the very likeness of your father."

Tom watches as his father can not look away from her, caught like a deer in the headlights. Tom knows that this woman cannot possibly know that he knows about the history between her and his father. But as he watches as his father struggles against her accusing stare, he begins to wish that he could tell her.

Finally, she looks away, an unease weighing in her chest.

"Please excuse me," she mutters softly, before leaving the two Riddles.

Finally the undertaker tells them they are ready to begin.

The concelebrated mass takes forever. Finally, one of the priests walks round the coffin shaking incense and then holy water. Tom and his father link arms, and with four other men they carry the coffin solemnly out of the church and lower it into the back of the hearse. People shuffle away, car doors slam.

A black car takes them to the graveside where the final prayers are said and the coffin is lowered into the grave.

Mary stands to the right of the grave, her eyes are aged and teary. A plain black dress silhouettes her delicate condition, whilst her trembling hands cling to what she has left, her son. She looks at the grave and the floodgates, which were holding back her tears, release the droplets.

Tom stands on the other side of the grave. His face blank. He doesn't blink, he doesn't move.

The priest begins a prayer, but he isn't listening, he can't.

A candle is lit above the coffin. Hermione is in the front with the mourning family. Surrounding the grave in a semicircle, guests hang their heads and few sob. Family and friends all wear black. The only sound is the pastor chime of a church bell somewhere in the distance, echoing across the graveyard to tell them the hours passed. Its melancholy tune only depresses the situation. The small town is always busy, but it seemed that nearly the whole village was here. Perhaps that was to be expected when one's family owned everything on the side of the valley.

And, with flowers in front of the headstone and the words said, the funeral ends. They walk away in the rain, slowly, despite the chill wind and water. Tom places the rose softly on the headstone, kneels down, ignoring the wet grass. A true look of sadness crosses his eyes, but no tears come. His lips move, just above a whisper. "I'm sorry," He says to the grave.

Tom looked at the remains of his family. Mary's face was glazed with tears. Her eyes were so swollen it was a wonder she could see where she was going.

But Hermione was no longer crying. She met Tom's gaze with the same hard, blazing look that he had seen when she had kissed him in his fireplace, and he knew that at that moment they understood each other perfectly, and that when he told her what he was going to do now, she would not say 'Be careful', or 'Don't do it', but accept his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him. And so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since he had made his mind up.

'Jean, listen ...' he said very quietly, as the buzz of conversation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet. 'I can't stay here any more. I need to leave. And I have to be alone when I do it..'

She said, with an oddly twisted smile, 'Just a few days ago you wanted me to follow you.'

'I did … I think I wanted it very badly,' said Tom. 'But I can't ... we can't ... I've got things to do alone now.'

She did not cry, she simply looked at him,

Tom had wanted them to leave together, had thought about it more than he cared to admit. The last year spent with Hermione had been… like living someone else's life. All of his raving ambitions had been pushed aside. Voldemort had slowly faded to the back of his mind.

But now, with the stark reality of his grandfather's death, his old demons were waking. The Horcruxes.

How could he have waited this long?

To him it was urgently, glaringly obvious what he needed to do. And He knew Hermione could never have any part in that.

She looked away from him, over the cemetery. She never really gave up on him, Hermione realised. Not really. A part of her always hoped ... that Tom could be saved. She didn't know what he'd do. But some part of her imagined that he could have stayed in the ministry, working to revolutionize the government. To grow old as everyone was meant to, to live a decent and even great life.

"I had hoped you wouldn't say that... but I can't say I'm surprised. I knew this would happen in the end." she tells him honestly.

Tom could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution would hold if he remained standing beside her. His father, he saw, was now holding Mary's hand while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose. Tom notices, uneasily, that his father and Cecilia have been staring at one another all day, not as discreetly as they might have believed. But this may even be the least of his problems

With a miserable gesture, Tom turned his back on Hermione and his grandfather's tomb and walked away. Walking away felt much more bearable than being next to her: just as setting out as soon as possible to track down the founder's items and fashioning his Horcruxes would feel better than waiting to do it

...

Hepzibah was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while Hokey laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.

"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"

She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up.

"How do I look?" said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.

"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey.

A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped.

"Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" cried Hepzibah and the elf scurried out of the crammed room.

The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by Tom. He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair perfectly coiffed and his cheeks hollow, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.

"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, presenting her with yet another bundle of roses.

"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah, though Tom noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table as always. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom. ... Sit down, sit down- Oh dear…" she said, frowning, pushing the flowers away from under her nose.

"Oh my...," she said disoriented. She looked up, back at Tom, confused, as she smiled coldly at her. "Tom?" she whispered fearfully, before slumping over in her chair, her face frozen in fear.

The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she let topple to the floor.

"Mistress!" The little elf shrieked, "Mistress must get up!" Hokey screeched, shaking Hepzibah's jiggling arm, before turning back to Tom, "Mr. Riddle must help my Mistress! Mistress has told Hokey Mr. Riddle is a-"

It was the most wonderful feeling. Suddenly, Hokey could feel a floating sensation as every thought and worry in her head was gently wiped away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. She stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware that her mistress was keeled over in her chair, unresponsive.

"Hokey will go back to the kitchens," Tom was saying coldly, "and Hokey will use Asphodel powder to make Hepzibah's evening cocoa. The elf nodded, walking in a graceful trance around the clutter in the room.

This was proving just too easy. An aged house elf with failing vision, After Tom was through with modifying her memories, Hokey would appear guilty as sin.

Retrieving Hufflepuff's cup and his locket was proving easier than he could have ever imagined.

As he fingers Slytherin's locket in his hand once more, he feels a rush of power surge through him. Hepzibah's words from their last meeting repeat themselves.

"Burke bought it apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value...-I daresay Burke paid her a pittance."

Then and there, Tom decided he had one more stop to make that night.


	39. Chapter 39

Hermione choked on her tea. "Dead?" she spluttered, clumsily putting her cup down. She blinked hard at the paper in her hands but the words stayed the same.

"No," Hermione breathed, her hand wringing the prophet, her face white. He couldn't have. Then again… she thought, she hadn't seen Tom since the funeral.

She stood suddenly, her chair falling over onto the tiled floor of her kitchen.

In no time at all Hermione was stood out front of Tom's flat.

She knocked impatiently on the door. Pounding, really.

"Riddle? Riddle, open the door!" she demanded. "Riddle, open the door!"

She made to grab her wand, her mind made up to blow down the bloody door if she had to-

The door opened as she jiggled the nob. Hermione frowned. What on earth-? Tom would never leave his door unlocked.

"Dammit to hell," she cursed as she took in the empty space. All of Tom's possessions were gone, leaving behind a mere skeleton of the apartment she had been beginning to feel comfortable in.

Where else might he be? It was possible he hadn't left yet she hoped against hope. She stepped towards the great fire place and found the urn of floo powder still present. She found that Tom's floo was still connected and she hurriedly flooed to Tom's office.

She was alone when she entered his office. It had been left exactly as it was the last time she had been in there, she noted, as she walked toward the far end of the room towards Tom's desk.

Hermione's hands clenched tightly around the newspaper still in her grip, crumpling it. Hepzibah was dead.

Two days. It had been only two days since Thomas Riddle's funeral, dammit. He was mad; bonkers.

She was mad too. For letting herself forget what he really was, that is. And now Tom was back on the path that would lead to the ruin of her time line.

Hokey the house-elf was being convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident.

"It's unsettling, that is," Hermione heard a voice break the silence.

She whipped around wand ready, only to come face to face to Abraxas Malfoy. She wondered what he was doing in Tom's office. Surely he had his own private quarters within the ministry. She had meant to find Tom here.

Abraxas gave an exaggerated shiver, "Just thinking about it... An abomination, that's what it is."

Hermione's frustrations grew as she was reminded that the house elf would also suffer because of Tom's actions . "A load of codswallop, more like," Hermione huffed, throwing down the paper between them.

Abraxas lifted his brow, as though questioning her sanity.

Hermione sighed, her own brow furrowing.

"He's left, hasn't he," Hermione bit out.

"Tom's requested a sabbatical If he doesn't return in one years time his position in the ministry will no longer be available to him. It was very rushed," Abraxas admitted defensively.

Hermione pushed herself to ignore the disappointment she felt at discovering that Tom had left without saying a proper goodbye. That was hardly the big issue she was meant to be concerned with.

"He could return before the year is over," Abraxas added, attempting to preserve Tom's image. But Hermione knew better. She knew that Tom would spend 10 years in Albania before his return to England. All that he was given in this new timeline; family, wealth, an illustrious career and reputation, yet he was still willing to leave it all to become Voldemort.

So, quite understandably, Hermione was in a severe state of panic. Her plans were rapidly degrading and for the first time in a year, she was seriously considering using the time turner once more.

How could she have let this happen? She knew Tom was somehow involved in Hepzibah's death. And the worse thing was she hadn't even seen it coming.

"I need to find him."

Maybe if she did she could talk some sense into him...

Abraxas exhaled slowly, his face weary as he slumped down into one of the armchairs in front of Tom's desk.

"Don't hold your breath," he scoffed, his silvery blue eyes narrowing as Hermione resolutely started ravaging the drawers of Tom's desks for serviceable clues to where Tom would be.

"You won't find anything here," Abraxas expanded, his voice condescending, "Tom doesn't like to mix his jobs with his… other hobbies."

She knew it was useless too and so she stopped, slammed the drawer closed and leant against the desk, using her hand to to prop her up. She growled in frustration and pulled at her hair.

"He's in Albania," Abraxas says unhelpfully, looking uncomfortable.

"Yes, I know that," she snaps.

He looks up sharply, "He told _you_?" he questions her disbelievingly.

Abraxas slowly reaches into his robe pocket and withdraws and envelope. As he holds it up to her he says, "Tom gave this to me. I was meant to deliver it to you."

Hermione's mouth drops open. "And you've just now brought it up?" she screeched, grabbing at it.

He shrugs noncommittally as she reads the letter.

_Jean,_

_First I must apologize for not meeting you in person. _

_I've left the country, as by now you know._

_I can't say when I'll return but I can tell you that I'll do whatever I can to ensure that it will be as soon as possible._

_-Tom_

Abraxas was quite startled to see Hermione's lips curl in disgust. That was all he wrote?

She shoved the note into her pocket, and walked towards the floo. She was going to find him. She was going to Albania. But first she would stop by the Riddles'.

. . .

"Oh, yes, he left late yesterday. He didn't tell you, dear?" Mary asked, in surprise. Mary was propped up against a mountain of soft pillows on her bed, still dressed in black, her white culs let down over her shoulders.

"How very strange," she said, "I can't imagine why he would do such a thing."

Hermione frowned. "Where is Mr. Riddle?" Hermione asked.

She had let herself into the house, to find it almost empty.

A small smiled graced the lady's lip. "He's in Windsor, he's gone to see his old love," she says happily, "I expect he'll be back late this evening."

"Cecilia?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Oh yes, they've quite hit it off again. Thomas would have been so happy to see it too," Mrs. Riddle sighed weakly, "At the rate those two birds are going, Tom will be in for a shock when he returns."

Hermione only nodded. She knew Tom would not be back soon. He would disappear for 10 years just as he had in her own timeline. Something had triggered Tom's thirst for the founder's objects. The successive deaths, Hermione guessed.

She bid the widowed Riddle goodbye and flooed back to her flat in a whirl of green flames. It was too late for her to fix this timeline, events were falling back into place before her eyes. Realistically, she knew that if she had any chance of succeeding in saving her future, she would need to be even more meticulous in her meddling of Tom's life.

She needed to go back again.

But first she would go to Tom in Albania.

. . .

"Jean?"

Hermione slowly turned around, her grip on the diadem slackening. He was standing behind her, his face looking terribly confused. Tom had not seen Hermione for several long months. His search for the diadem had been going better than he had ever expected it could.

Hermione took a moment to take him in. His clothes were slightly disheveled and his hair unkempt. His eyes didn't meet hers but instead were focused on the silver she held in her hands.

She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet, backing up till she was pressed up to the hollow tree. The cloudiness in his eyes faded and he looked up sharply to her.

"Ex- sssplain," Tom hissed his eyes narrowing.

She didn't answer and he was on her in seconds, in front of her and swooping the diadem from her grasp. He had one hand on the tree behind her, the diadem tightly clenched, trapping her in her spot as his other hand gripped her waist tightly, pinning her down.

Hermione stared, holding Tom's piercing gaze. His dark, grey eyes shined, as they tried to read her, but Hermione was having none of it.

"You killed Burke," Hermione accused harshly.

For a split second Tom looked surprised, before he tightened his grip on her making her gasp.

"Why did you do it, Tom?" Hermione asked almost desperately, the anger in her face melting away only to be replace with a look of hopelessness.

Hermione winced as the bark of the tree scraped against her skin but refused to break from Tom's gaze. "Tell me," she demanded to know.

For a second it seemed as though Tom would deny it. Tell her she was wrong, crazy even and where ever had she gotten that idea? But then his eyes hardened, his frown deepening and he answered, "Because he killed my mother. He's the reason why she died and the reason why I grew up in that _filthy _muggle orphanage!"

Hermione could see that Tom was enraged now, his handsome face was twisted. "He stole from me," Tom snarled. "He took what was _mine, _Jean," he tried to explain to her.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes were wide and she was frowning. "There are ways to deal with these issues, Tom. You can't just... _kill_ people…"

At her words, Tom threw his head back and laughed, a manic smile spreading across his face. It scared her.

"But I _did_, Jean."

_And I'll do it again, , _Tom wanted to tell her.

He watched as her horrified expression morphed into acceptance.

"Let go," she said, shaking his hands off her determinedly. She slipped away from him and crossed her arms in front of her, grimacing. Her heart was beating wildly. She was going to leave this time, just like that. She wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. The words died in her throat. She had failed.

She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help it soshe looked back at him and saw him frowning, standing tall and oozing power.

"... Where are you going?" Tom hissed angrily, his brow knitted in confusion as he glared at her back.

She reached under her shirt for her time turner.

"Jean… what are you doing…"

Her hands trembled.

"Turn around. Look at me, now," his voice held the slightest hint of worry. Or perhaps it was her imagination.

"...Goodbye, Tom,"

There was a silent pause as he registered what she was saying. Then-

"Jean, don't you d-!"

And she was gone.


	40. Chapter 40

Hermione landed softly on crinkling leaves. It was dark and chilly in the forest now and moonlight streamed through bare tree branches. It was drizzling lightly and a thousand stars littered the sky. Hermione gasped breathless.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around but she was alone. She stood up slowly and placed her hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath. Her brows furrowed, feeling full of guilt but also frustration at Tom.

With a crack she apparated out of Albania focused on the centre of Wizarding London.

In an instant she appeared in the glowing, bustling streets of Diagon Alley and was met with the sound of explosions. Senses heightened, she stiffened her position, her wand ready to release her wand when she was met with the sound of cheering and laughter. Bright, colorful sparks were fired into the night sky in celebration. The streets were covered in a trampled layer of snow. It was new years eve, Hermione realised her eyes wide. That meant it was Tom's birthday today. She wanted to find him but first she had to find out where in time _she_ was. She hurried down the street to the nearest news stand and paid the vendor 5 knuts from her beaded bag.

Hermione scanned the front page-

December 31…

_1926!_

Today was the day Tom Riddle would be born! Hermione was at a loss at what to do. She had never expected that she would be brought to this day of all days. Hermione found her curiosity growing.

Hermione folded the paper away and looked up to the clock tower. It was little over an hour till midnight. She was interrupted from her thoughts as a woman knocked in to her from behind.

"Terribly sorry dear," the woman smiled apologetically as she herded her children away towards the sweets shop.

Hermione was once again struck with the thought of how strange it was to be in a time that was not her own. She had at least begun to grow somewhat used the timeline she had created. _This time,_ she thought, she would succeed.

Hermione drew her hood as she made her way to bricked alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron. She stood before the wall and tapped on the brick three up and tow across from the trash can. The wall shifted and turned to form a large archway. She stepped out into Muggle London and was met with heavy snowfall. She cast a warming charm and sighed as heat spread over her. There were a few muggles wandering about the streets hurriedly and yellow light exuded from most every window.

She made her way towards Wool's orphanage, knowing that it was nearby. A few blocks from the Leaky, she came across a square building surrounded by high saw the lights were off save for on the first floor. Hermione crossed the pavement to the orphanage for a short distance until finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard.

She mounted the few steps leading to the front door and quickly decided to knock once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl with sharp features wearing an apron.

"Hello," Hermione said before the girl could interrupt her, "I am aware that the hour is terribly late but-"

"It is indeed, and I am sorry to say this but we are urgently busy at the mo', you see?" the younger girl said, beginning to shut the door.

"Wait, yes I know!" Hermione cried, "a young women came here not to long ago, I expect."

The younger girl looked at Hermione bewildered. "But how could you know that?"

The door widened and Hermione stepped into a hallway just as a drawn out moan could be heard. Worried, both girls moved swiftly across the black and white tiled floors. They passed a stairwell where a little girl stood peering at them over the banister she tried to hide as soon as she saw the older girls coming.

"Martha! To your room this instant, young lady!"

"Elizabeth, what's happening?" the little girl slurred before a stern look from the older girl sent her scrambling back up the stairs.

Hermione and the girl made a few turn until they reached a small shabby room, spotlessly clean that was meant to used as an infirmary. A nineteen year old Merope Gaunt was laid out across a rather lumpy looking mattress covered wearing snow drenched rags, her eyes squeezed tightly shut while grey haired midwife stood closely by her side.

Her hair was lank and dull, spilling over the pillows that propped her up and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes stared slightly in opposite directions but were clear as crystals. Hermione thought she had never seen a more defeated looking person. This women was Tom Riddle's Mother?

A whimper escaped the birthing witch

"How long has she been like this?" Hermione asked worried, unable to remove her eye's from the other witch's bulging belly and the wet puddle between her legs soaking into the covers.

"I say, it couldn't have been more than an hour ago, she came staggering up the steps," muggle girl replied.

"Missus Cole, bring some clean rags and a blanket, quick." Hermione's eyes narrowed on the girl who would one day take over the orphanage as she hurried out the door to gather the cloths.

"You're nearly there miss, keep going," the midwife encouraged Merope.

Hermione turned her attention back to Merope. She shakily approached the bed and hesitated before reaching for the witch's hand.

"Mrs. Gaunt? Er… Merope?" Hermione tried.

Her response was an ear splitting howl as Merope began to gasp and her face turned a deep shade of puce. Hermione looked up to the midwife.

"Can't you give her anything? Anesthetic?" Hermione asked knowing that the use of anesthetics during the childbirthing process had become standard in this time.

The nurse shook her head, clicking her tongue, "The girl refused, I tell you."

Hermione winced as Merope gripped her hand none too gently.

The younger Mrs. Cole returned bearing a small armful of clean towels and Hermione allowed the girl to take her spot in caring for Merope. "Its beginning," the midwife told Mrs. Cole as she spread Merope's legs wide over the mattress.

Hermione felt sick and stepped outside into the hallway. She wasn't meant to be there.

She stared at the wall in front of her and blocked out the cries coming from the room. She sank into the wall and closed her eyes.

There were so many possibilities. Should she save Merope gaunt? Talk some sense into her before she let death take her? Hermione wondered if it was Merope's will to die or if it had been meant to be. If she saved Merope then what? Would Tom be alright being brought up by Merope? What if something went wrong and Hermione waited too long to change it. It wasn't as if she would stop ageing. What if she grew old waiting around for Tom to change? It wasn't even guaranteed that her going back could change anything at all. Was this all even worth it?

An hour dragged on where these concerns plagued Hermione.

Then, her eyes flickered open as she heard a baby's wail. She straightened herself from off the wall and approached the door. Slowly, she opened it, peeking in and saw the midwife holding bundled cloth and placing it in Merope's arms before hurrying out the door.

Meropes face was tear streaked and sweat collected at her brow. She looked down at the little baby in her arms and said, her voice croaking, "I hope he looks like his papa." Then she looked over to Mrs. Cole. "He's to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for my father." Mrs. Cole made a strange face in reply.

"Yes, miss."

"His surname is…"

"Yes, go on," Mrs. Cole asked attentively, leaning in closer towards the young mother.

Merope's eyes once again looked back to the bundle in her arms, her baby.

"Riddle," she whispered, her eyes closing.

She died then without another word. The birthing process had proven too much for Merope to handle. And she had never been a strong women.

Mrs. Cole looked shaken, "Oh no," she breathed, her sharp eyes widening. Hermione stepped in this time, placing her hand over Meropes nose and mouth before nodding in affirmation to Mrs. Cole.

"The poor thing," she said, picking up the bundle from it's mother's limp cradle. Hermione didn't know if the girl was talking about Merope or Tom or both.

"I'll get help," the girl said leading Hermione into the hall and shakily closing the door behind them while cradling the bundle in her arms.

"Oh, what a way to start the year," Mrs. Cole muttered. What she wouldn't do for a gin.

Without warning, she held the bundle out for Hermione to hold on to.

"Could you hold him? I'll be just a mo'," she said lifting her long skirt and dashing down the hall.

Hermione froze before finally being able to look down. She gently tugged at a corner of the blanket and inside just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. She became entranced with the pale, soft, skin and tiny little nose. curled lashes touched his cheeks and his little pink mouth was opened slightly. The baby gurgled and Hermione wrenched her eyes away.

It felt so strange holding the baby, _Tom,_ and she didn't want to anymore. It felt so wrong. She could have cried in relief when she spotted Mrs. Cole coming down the hall and she quickly deposited the bundle into the future matron's arms.

"And where are you off to now?" Mrs. Cole asked distressed.

Hermione paused before answering.

"... to find the father. I'll be back soon. Take care of him, please," she said, leaving Mrs. Cole gaping.

Hermione left the orphanage and entered the freezing night.

…

The Hanged Man, the village pub, was a roaring trade that night; the whole village seemed to have turned out to celebrate the new year. One young man in particular however, was not there to join in the festivities. He was there to do what he had been doing since he had returned from his bewitchment (that was the only thing he could call it). He was there to drink himself silly. He sat in the furthest corner of the bar, an empty glass in front of him as he began his second of the new year.

Tom Riddle Sr. was interrupted when when a young women silently approached his table.

He sighed in frustration and put down his glass before pinching his nose.

"I must ask you to please leave. I'm not interested," he said, his voice tight.

Hermione paused. "Not interested in what?" she asked confused.

Not expecting such a response, he deigned to look up. His brow furrowed when he could not recognize the girl as one who lived in the village. Try as he might, he couldn't recall someone with hair so messy. She looked at him with an eyebrow cocked.

"Who are you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"I'm Jean. Jean Grant,"

"Do we know each other then?" Tom Sr. asked, curious as to why she had approached his table.

Hermione paused before answering. "Well, no," she said frowning.

"Then what is your business with me?"

"Your bewitchment by Merope Gaunt."

**. . .**

Thank you for the story views, favorites and follows.

LCB, human, Anonymous Presence, ImperialGodess-123, Edward Greenaway, viola 1701e, Kate Elizabeth Black, and Guest, Thank you for reviewing!

To answer some comments:

Yes I have revised parts of the story. If I had time I would rewrite the earlier chapters. Reading them makes me cringe.

I have lots of ideas for this story and a general plan for where it is headed. I just need to find time write it.


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